


Abigail's Baby

by Waxwing



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waxwing/pseuds/Waxwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Abigail Learns that motherhood is a mixed blessing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Abigail and Hannibal have an awkward conversation.

Dr. Lecter was not what Abigail would have considered her type. Truth be told, she didn't have enough romantic experience to confidently claim to have a specific type, but she was sure that if she'd ever bothered to think about it a Lithuanian psychiatrist who was slightly older than her father would not have been the mental picture that she would have drawn. She wouldn't have imagined that she was his type ether. Dr. Lecter was worldly and sophisticated and mature in ways that she was sure she never would be. Nothing ever really seemed to phase him and nothing was beyond his understanding. She imagined that people like her must seem bland and unremarkable to him.

It was because of this that she initially interpreted his interest in her as being a side effect of the circumstances under which they'd met. He had saved her life so now he felt responsible for her, that was all. She had thought nothing of him repeatedly visiting her hospital room, first with Will Graham and then later on his own, or of him giving her his business card with his home number written in pen on the back, "if you ever need someone to talk to" he had said. He was a psychiatrist after all, so of course his natural inclination was to be concerned for her emotional well-being.

After helping her hide the body, his attentions seemed to grow slightly more intimate. There were constant little touches that seemed to go unnoticed by anyone else to such a degree that she wondered if she imagined them. He would touch the small of her back while leading her out of a room, tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear...there was that one time when she was at one of his dinners when he walked behind her chair and briefly petted the soft downy hair on the back of her exposed neck. She was ashamed to find herself replaying that incident in her mind later on when she was alone and couldn't sleep. When they would talk he would stand a little too close, look into her eyes a little too long.

Abigail shook it off, told herself to stop being "gross." He was just being nice, it was unfair of her to assume he had ulterior motives. She convinced herself that she was just imagining the hungry edge in his gaze and the lower, softer cadence that he seemed to only speak in when they were alone. Still, she finds herself nervous around him in a way that she hadn't been before. She starts wearing makeup again and doesn't even bother to justify the decision to herself.

Their conversations change subtly, everything about him is subtle, from inquiries about her mental health and her plans for the future to more...tender subjects. He asks her in a furtive, almost concerned tone as they sit in the hospitals garden one afternoon when her first sexual experience was. He says it so gently, so clinically, that she doesn't balk at it the way she would had nearly anyone else asked. She blushes and proceeds to tell him about the time in fifth grade when an older boy (she doesn't even remember his name now) lured her under the bleachers during recess and did something with his hand between her legs that made her feel very good at the time but sick and sullied afterwards. He asks her, in his cool, measured voice, how she feels looking back on the encounter. She says she feels nothing.

He asks her, his expression passive, if she ever "gratifies" herself. She giggles and ask if he means "does she mastrubate", he makes a little noise in his throat that might have been the beginning of a laugh, nearly smiles and says "yes."She tries to verbalise a reply but winds up just shaking her head. He quirks an eyebrow.

"No?"

"Uh-uh."

He says nothing but the slight tilt of his head makes her feel like she should say something.

"I did, but then I... stopped."

" Was there a reason or did you simply lose the inclination?" It should sound dirty, this whole conversation should feel wrong, but it doesn't and so she keeps going. She figures that, since she's already in the water, she may as well swim.

"I did...when I was really young...I don't even remember how young, but then..." She makes a choking noise (it's not a sob) takes a deep breath and then continues. "Then my dad walked in on me. I had my hand under the covers so he couldn't really...see, but he'd have to have been pretty naive not to know. I couldn't say anything, I started crying. He just turned and walked out of the room, then I heard him talking to my mom. He said, 'you need to go talk to your daughter.'"

"Did he often delegate to your mother in those sorts of situations?" It's a gentle prod, just enough to push her forward.

"Yeah," she laughs nervously, " me and my dad were always...(an image of a dead girl flashes in her mind) close, but not about that kind of thing."

"How did your mother handle the matter?"

"She pretended not to know what I was doing, she was always like that, you know..."

"Willfully ignorant?"

"Yeah, that's it, that's exactly it. So, I told her that it... itched down there." It suddenly hits her exactly what she's talking about and who she's talking to and her throat seizes up, she feels her ears get hot but then she swallows and presses on without looking at him.

"She got me a doctors appointment and when I went in he asked me a bunch of questions, worded things in that clumsy way adults do when they're talking to kids about things they think kids shouldn't know about. I was really anxious that he was going to ask to look at me...down there but he didn't. In the end he prescribed me something for a yeast infection. After that I just couldn't do that anymore. I would start to, but I'd get so anxious that it wouldn't even feel good."

"Did you feel as though you had lost something?"

She nods, how is it that he always seems to know just what question to ask to keep her talking.

"I don't know," she can't look at him, tears of embarrassment start to sting at the backs of her eyes.

"It was just nice to have something that was just mine, to be able to do something for myself that made me feel that good without having to ask for permission." She chokes, she can't talk.

She jumps when Dr. Lecter touches her shoulder, it's a barely detectable touch but under the circumstances it feels very intimate.

"Did you resent them for taking that release from you?" he rubs a slow circle just over her collarbone with his thumb.

"Yeah." she does sob now, but just once. "Yeah, when I got older I sometimes wanted to ask them why they thought it was better to have me believe there was something wrong with me then to have just one awkward conversation. It felt like...like it didn't matter to them if I was happy, all that mattered was that they got to keep seeing me as an innocent little girl."

"They didn't care about your well-being, they only cared that you were filling the role they needed you to fill?"

She nods, feels long latent anger simmering in her chest.

"Do you feel that set a precedent for your...future interactions with your father?"

She nods, he reaches down a takes her right hand between his two hands, strokes her palm with his thumb, up and down, up and down.

After a few moments in silence he reaches up and places his index finger under her chin, tilting her head back until her eyes meet his. She suddenly feels naked, fully present in reality again.

"You know Abigail," his hand returns to her's and resumes it's soothing motion, "you're a grown woman, it is entirely natural that you should have a grown woman's needs and you've certainly no cause to be ashamed, least of all of anything that you do in private."

She flushes and suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close to her he is.

"I find it odd," he went on "that you said permission."

"Huh?" She hadn't realized that she'd been lulled into a trance by his touch, his voice, and the upward inflection in his voice gave her a start.

"Do you feel that you need permission to...attend to yourself, Abigail?"

"I...uh, I guess" she was really blushing now, "I know that's stupid, I know it's not wrong...I just need someone to tell me it's not wrong." A few tears slide down her face but she doesn't look away from him.

He looks gentle when he smiles. He reaches up to wipe her tears away and then moves his hand to the back of her neck where his thumb resumes it's soothing motion, up and down, up and down.

"For what it is worth" his tone is conspiratorial "you have my permission."

He leans in then and kisses her on the cheek. There's a long silence after that wherein he looks at her and she looks at his hand holding her's and she is sorely tempted to reach up and put her arms around his neck, to crush their mouths together and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, but she doesn't. Instead she reminds herself of how much older and how much smarter and how much more experienced he is than her and she looks up at him and laughs an embarrassed, girlish laugh as if to remind him just how not worth his time she is.

He smiles again and then brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it. He looks briefly back into her eyes and for a second she swears she sees that hunger again.

"I think you'd better go back inside Abigail."

She nods and laughs breathily.

"I...I'm sorry about..."

"Not at all," he stands smoothly and offers her his hand, she takes it and stands. As he leads her back to the hospital his hand finds hers again.

"Abigail, do you feel safe with me?" He doesn't turn to look at her, just squeezes a little harder at the end of the question.

"Yes." She says it without hesitation and feels an alien lightness in her chest.

That night, alone in her bed, Abigail takes full advantage of the doctors permission while she remembers the dry warmth of his hand on hers and imagines how his touch would feel on other parts of her body.

Things only change a little after that, but the ways in which they change are important, she thinks. She thinks he seems more relaxed around her and (she thinks) he smiles more. There's a little niggling voice in the back of her head that tells her that she must be imagining it but for once she forces herself not to listen. She doesn't have much in her arsenal when it comes to flirting. With the few boys her own age that she's pursued it had helped to be as overt as possible but she had a feeling that Hannibal wouldn't appreciate that. She tries though, during conversations when he leans in, she leans in, she smiles almost too much, she's always sure to make eye contact and acknowledge him by name when they they see each other.

This goes on for a long time and he doesn't seem anywhere near "taking the bait" so to speak. Just as she's about to give up and start trying to forget the whole thing the "breakthrough" happens. They're in the kitchen and she's drying dishes, being very careful not to drop any of the expensive wine glasses. Then they have that fateful conversation and she winds up confessing everything. When she cries she doesn't know if it's from guilt or fear or pure relief at having finally confided in someone.

She doesn't have long to dwell on it because soon he's holding her and his arms are surprisingly strong and he smells so good, sweet and clean yet masculine. She's surprised at her own boldness when she reaches up and grabs his lapels, pulls him down until their mouths are touching and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. As he pulls her closer, squeezing almost too hard, and growls his satisfaction into her mouth she starts to think that maybe she is his type after all.


	2. In which Abigail makes her move and Hannibal makes a confession.

They take things slowly, they have to. There's a constant media circus around Abigail and the last thing she wants is for it to negatively affect Hannibal (it takes her an embarrassingly long time to stop calling him Dr. Lecter.) He says that he only keeps their relationship a secret so that there won't be any "indecent speculation" on the part of the press, he cares about her reputation (which makes her laugh.) She doesn't kid herself that his concerns are entirely chivalrous, he has a private practice and she imagines the success of that sort of thing has to rely pretty heavily on his good reputation, but she believes that they at least partly are and she's surprised at how much that turns her on. He refers to their long, furtive conversations in her room and the late night dinners at his house that she has to sneak out of the hospital to go to as a "courtship" and that turns her on too.

She thinks that "boyfriend" sounds like to juvenile a term to describe him. She doesn't even feel that she should describe whatever it is that's going on between them, like putting it into words would cheapen it somehow. For all his level headed confidence there's something tentative, almost shy, about the way he pursues her. He has the strangest way of making his interest clear while simultaneously assuring her that she could back out of their...whatever it is whenever she likes, all without directly telling her either of those things. The strangest part of it is that he seems in no hurry to make things physical.

It's not as though he's withholding of affection. He's more than willing to touch her and to allow her to touch him, an opportunity of which she only takes advantage after she gets over her fear of damaging impeccably tailored suit, but he seems satisfied with kisses and caresses and (mostly) clothed embraces and this caused Abigail no end of confusion. Of course she didn't expect him to be as demanding and impatient as the boys she went out with in high school, but she does want things to progress sooner or later (preferably sooner) and she's getting a little tired of waiting for him to initiate. She starts to get frustrated again, until it dawns on her that maybe he's been waiting for her. She feels stupid for not considering that possibility sooner and resolves that the next time she gets the chance she'll test her theory.

The opportunity comes on one of their "dates" at his place. They're in the living room and she's looking out the window while he sets up the record player. As the music starts he walks up behind her, puts an arm around her waist and places a quick kiss to the scar on her neck. Before he can withdraw Abigail reaches back and places her hand to the back of his neck, gently urging him back down. She feels him smile against her skin before he resumes. He starts with her scar (he always seems to start with her scar) and works his way up with his lips and his tongue and a brief brush of his teeth to just behind her ear where he pauses to savor her scent.

Steeling herself, she turns around a wraps her arms around his neck. She strains upward slightly to place a soft kiss on his lips but pulls back just as he starts to reciprocate.

"Hannibal?" She doesn't mean for it to come out as a whisper.

"Yes?" He places a kiss to her forehead and then returns to her neck.

"Are we..." it hits her then that she still hasn't settled on what to call it so she latches on to the first term that springs to mind, "an item?"

It sounds ridiculous, but there's no taking it back now. Hannibal pulls back a regards her thoughtfully for a moment. He reaches up and strokes her hair.

"Would you like for us to be?" His fingers are moving in a circular motion on the back of her neck now and it makes it hard for her to think.

"Yea...yes." She giggles, "God yes."

His eyes light up then and he smiles unguardedly for the first time since she's known him. He pulls her close and kisses her with a hunger that borders on animalistic. They move to a nearby couch and she straddles his lap, trying not to show how unnatural it feels to be above him. Keeping her mouth on his she struggles with his tie until he obligingly removes it for her. She undoes the top few button on his shirt and runs her hands over his chest and then up through his hair before moving to the buttons of her own cardigan.

Picking up her her cue he kisses his way down her throat to her collarbone, from her collarbone to the tops of her breasts. Thing are going just fine until she goes to unbutton her jeans, then suddenly he grabs her hands. He closes his eyes, takes a few slow, deep breaths and then looks over at the clock.

"It's getting late my darling." It's the first time he's ever called her anything other than her own name and it all too obvious that he's doing it just to soften the blow. "I think you'd best be getting back."

Abigails stomach sinks, looking directly into his eyes, she tries to salvage the situation.

"Or I could stay the night?" She hopes that he catches her actual meaning and doesn't assume she's just asking to sleep over.

"I don't think that would be wise, Abigail." He starts fastening the buttons on her shirt but she grabs his hand.

"Come on." Abigail struggles to keep the irritation out of her voice, forces herself to sound playful.

"You can say that I ran away and came here and you decided to wait until morning to bring me back, it's not like they can actually punish me or anything. The worst I'll get is talking to from Dr. Bloom."

"That's...not what I'm concerned about." There's mild strain beneath his veneer of composure. He puts his hands on her waist and gently maneuvers her to the couch beside him, buttons up her shirt, runs a hand through her hair and then stands and walks to a nearby mirror to begin re-tying his tie.

"What is it them?" She asks so softly that when he doesn't react to the question she's not sure if he's ignoring it or just didn't hear her.

"Of course I insist on driving you." He walks over, offers her his hand and sighs when she makes no move to take it. "I promise you we will discuss this...soon."

"No," she says it through clenched teeth. "I want to talk about it now."

When she looks into his eyes there's a degree of helplessness there that until now she wouldn't have even imagined he was capable of feeling. He takes another deep, slow breath and sits back down beside her but doesn't look at her, favoring the floor near her feet.

"You are..." he stops and swallows and she realizes that this is the first time she's ever heard him struggle to find the right words, it's almost enough to make her laugh, "very young Abigail."

"Oh, god, don't..." she starts but then he shoots her a sidelong glance, silently demanding that she let him finish.

"I'm sure that you can understand how some might interpret you as being in a vulnerable position." There's an awkward pause then, almost as though he's embarrassed.

"That it?" Now she makes no attempt to conceal her exasperation. "You're worried that you're...taking advantage of me?"

"It's not that simple Abigail." When he doesn't elaborate she stand up and walks toward the door, he follows and blocks her exit. "Let me take you back."

She almost object but then decides it's not worth it, all she can muster is a hissed out "fine!"

On the drive to the hospital they are both stone silent. Tears make their way down Abigail's face but Hannibal doesn't notice or at least pretends not to. He parks half a block from the hospital (so no one will see him dropping her off), but as she's about to get out her reaches over and takes hold of her wrist. She doesn't struggle, just sits and waits for him to speak. When he begins he sounds a mix of sad and tired.

"Since...this began, I've been terrified that I might do something to hurt you." He stops, deliberately leaving her room to reply. She tries not to sound as frustrated as she is.

"I'm just so sick of everyone thinking they need to protect me." She swallows. "Ya' know, if I were half as fragile as everyone acts like I am I wouldn't be alive right now, right?"

"I do, I think I understand that better than anyone." There's a slight quaver in his voice but he swallows, takes a deep breath and continues in a steadier tone. "I admit that I do want to protect you but not, you understand, because I think you need me to. I want to protect you because I think it's about time someone protected you. I think you've suffered enough. It seems that your whole life everyone who should have taken care of you has failed you and I don't want to be another on that list."

"You've done a lot for me already..." She slowly pulls her wrist from his grip and takes his hand, "you're already way out ahead of every other man in my life in terms of who I can rely on."

She half expected him to remind her that she can rely on Will Graham too, but he doesn't, instead he looks out the window behind her for a moment and then firmly back at her face as though he's made up his mind about something.

"If you ever did anything that you'd regret on my account I could never forgive myself." She almost interrupts, but he presses on. "Because...I love you."

The way he says it, the way it seems to take all his self control not to look away from her as the words leave his lips, implies that he hasn't said that particular phrase out loud to anyone in a long time. At that realization Abigail feels a little pain, like a splinter, in her chest.

"You..." She bites her lip. "You love me?"

"I've adored you since the moment I saw you." Despite the strangeness of the confession he seems to have gained in confidence. "I've gone over all the things that may be wrong with that in my head, analyzed it to death really, but that still doesn't change it."

"I..." she wants to return the sentiment, if only just because she can tell it took him a lot of effort to say it and she doesn't want to hurt him, but it sticks in her throat. Picking up on her hesitation Hannibal lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it.

"Go get some sleep Abigail."

"Only if you promise to visit me tomorrow...so we can talk about this."

"Of course." His voice has regained its usual calm, authoritative tone, but with a hint of relief as though his confession has lifted a considerable weight.

Abigail kisses him one more time and then gets out of the car.


	3. In which Alana makes an appearance and Abigail is left with but one regret.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail confesses her love to Hannibal.

Shortly after Hannibal drops her off, it starts to storm. Abigail is not at all afraid of thunderstorms, in fact they usually help her sleep, but tonight she finds herself laying awake watching the branches of the tree outside her window dance in the wind. She can’t stop going over everything that’s happened in her mind, remembering his wounded expression, the barely restrained emotion in his voice. Wondering how many people ever got to see him like that, she feels fleetingly privileged. Then she forces herself to focus on the issue at hand.  


Is she in love with him? It feels much too soon, both in her life and after everything that’s happened, to be asking herself if she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Still, for all that she feels overwhelmed, she also feels a giddy sense of relief. Until now she had been under the assumption that she was so broken no one would ever want to be close to her and had been struggling to get used to the idea of being alone for the rest of her life. It was comforting to know that she was still worth something to someone (even if it was potentially influenced by the fact that he had happened to be there to stop the bleeding when her father tried to slit her throat), not as someone who could offer insight into the mind of a serial killer but just as herself, just as Abigail.  


Hannibal was one of few people who had never asked her about her father, he had asked her how she felt about her father, but never blatantly mined her for information. Really at this point he did know her better than anyone, probably better than anyone ever would know her. She couldn't imagine any point down the line where she would feel comfortable admitting what she’d done....what he’d made her do to anyone else, especially not if she wanted that person to like her. Hannibal knew the worst of her and took it in his stride, even seemed to embrace it on some level. She couldn't imagine ever having that kind of intimacy with another person. Even if it wasn't love, it was as close to it as she would ever get, she was sure of that.  


As outside her window the rain softened and birds began to sing in response to the changing light, Abigail felt a sense of peace settle over her. She drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that tomorrow she would be seeing Hannibal and she would tell him that she loved him.

It was a grey, drizzly morning, the sky still occasionally flashing and thunder rolling faintly in the distance. Abigail loved these sorts of days but rarely said so because of how much everyone else seemed to despise them. She deliberately tried not to think about Hannibal, he couldn't come until the evening and in the meantime she had a therapy session to get through. If she seemed to happy doctor Bloom would ask her why and she found it a little harder to lie to doctor Bloom then to anyone else. True, she hadn't told her therapist quite everything, but she had found that she was better at omitting information than she was at outright lying.  
She puts a knee length skirt and a sweater, the outfit is pretty but not fancy enough to draw suspicion. She pulls her hair back because she remembers how much attention Hannibal pays to her neck (tries not to think about the potential subtext of that attention.) She puts on just enough makeup to hide how tired she is and then heads out into the common room for breakfast. She gets through the few hours until her session with doctor Bloom without incident but by now she’s anxious, like if she’s not careful at some point she’ll open her mouth and her secret will come bubbling out like vomit. She feels guilty for having mentally compared a confession of love to vomit.  


Maybe, she thinks, if she calls Hannibal and sounds really worried on the phone he’ll come over sooner and she can get this all over with. That’s not how she should feel about it is it? Like it’s something to “get over with”? No, she should be happy...but she can’t be because if she seems happy doctor Bloom will ask her why and then she might tell her and then Hannibal will get in trouble (won’t he?) and it’ll be all her fault and he’ll leave her and she’ll be alone again and...and...and...  


By the time she sits down across from doctor Bloom she’s an anxious mess which, it turns out, is a good thing because there’s no reason for doctor Bloom to find that suspicious. doctor Bloom smiles her usual, mild, patient smile and opens with the usual question.  


“How are you feeling today sweetie?”  
Abigail swallows, smiles a strained little smile (which is also good because it’s also not suspicious) and gives a response that’s technically true.  


“I didn’t sleep much last night.”  


“Any particular reason,” doctor Blooms eyebrows knit “or were you just restless?”  


“I was thinking.” She sticks with technical truths because they’re the best she can do right now. “About my future, about what sort of life I’m gonna’ be able to have if this all ever blows over.”  


“Oh, Abigail, honey,” she somehow manages to smile and still look sad, “it will, I know it might not feel like it now but you can get past this and you can have a happy, normal life. I promise you that and I promise I’m going to help you.”  
Abigail think two things then: first, that only the second of those three things is true, second, that that’s not what Hannibal would have said. Hannibal would have asked her what sort of life she wanted to have and why she thought this needed to “blow over” in order for that life to be possible...but probably not, probably something like that but better. She doesn't know how she would have answered so she responds to doctor Bloom instead.  


“It’s not going to blow over. I mean, I know that the press is eventually going to leave me alone. Eventually some bigger, scarier, more interesting monster then my dad is gonna’ come along and I’ll seem boring by comparison and they’ll go away. So, for the rest of the world, it’ll have blown over but not for me...and I’m not even sure I want it to.”  


“What do you mean?” Doctor Bloom tries to keep her expression neutral but the concern in her voice gives her away.  


“I mean that I don’t want to remember it, I really don’t, but...but at the same time I don’t want to have to forget because even though it was horrible and even though I hate him...I really, really do...” she doesn't sob, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. “Even though I hate what he did to me and what he made me into, if I forget that I have to forget...everything. I’d have to forget everything that makes me me and even though I kind of hate me...”  
Here doctor Bloom tries to interrupt but Abigail talks over her.  


“Even though I hate being his...his thing, I don’t know what I’d be if I weren't. How can I be anything if I have to forget everything that made me?”  
Doctor Bloom looks startled when Abigail looks at her for an answer.  


“Abigail, you’re not just what he made you.”  


“How can I not be?” Abigail feels herself getting angry and for once feels no need to repress it. “That’s what people are made of right? Experiences and influences and...relationships? I hate him, but he was...still is I guess, the most important person in my life and there’s no way he didn't make me who I am. I hate him and he made me s-so I hate me, but I don’t...I don’t want to be nobody! I don’t want to disappear!”  


Abigail is not sobbing, the tears are moving down her face in slow steady streams and she feels more tight, bitter rage than sadness. Doctor Bloom’s eyes look a little wet but she manages to keep her composure.  


“Abigail,” she shakes her head slightly as if to clear it, “no one else decides who you are. No matter how close he was to you or how much influence he used to have over you, he does not decide who you are. I know you feel bad for having trusted him and for not seeing what he really was, but you are not responsible for anything he did, you understand? You trusted the man he pretended to be, the image of himself that he presented to the rest of the world. That doesn't make you a bad person Abigail, it makes you a perfectly normal girl who wanted to believe the best about her father, just like any other perfectly normal girl.”  


There’s a pregnant silence then during which Abigail can’t decided if she wants to laugh or cry so she does nether. She wipes her face on her sleeve and nods wordlessly, not even sure what she means by the gesture. Despite not knowing what she meant to convey, she seems to have conveyed something because doctor Bloom smiles then as if she’s very relieved.  


“Alright,” she comes over and sits next to Abigail on the couch, touches her elbow, “I think we’ve made progress today. Now, what I want you to do until next time is to keep thinking about your future, but I want to try and figure out where you really want to be. I want you to imagine yourself where you want to be and I want you to imagine what practical, real world steps you can take to get there. Break the process of getting from here to there into as many small steps as you can think of. Ok?”  
Abigail nods again and smiles hoping that doctor Bloom doesn't see the relief in her face.  


Abigail spends the rest of the day in her room. She tries to read (she’s been stuck half way through Stephen King’s The Stand for two weeks now) but she can’t seem to focus. Her mind keeps racing and she finds herself revisiting doctor Blooms advice. She’s not sure where exactly she wants to be, she just knows that she wants Hannibal there with her and it will only take one step to ensure that...one big, intimidating step. She starts to think about the fact that the only other man she’s ever said those three little words to is her father but then stops herself, this has nothing to do with him and then and there she decides that from now on nothing in her life will have anything to do with him (not if she can help it.)  


It’s nine o’clock when a nurse comes to her room to tell her she has a visitor, he’s cutting it close, visiting hours end at nine thirty. Any irritation she may have felt over his lateness dissolves when she walks into the common room and sees him standing there, tall and handsome in his brown suit. It takes all the self control she can muster to wait until the nurse leaves them alone before she throws her arms around him. He glances around to ensure they’re alone before bending to kiss her, when she feels him about to pull back she grabs his tie and deepens the kiss. When she finally lets him go he laughs breathlessly.  


“Ah, so you've been missing me.” She’s never heard his teasing voice before, she likes it.  


“I’m so sorry I got mad at you last night-” She starts, but he cuts her off.  


“No, no, no, darling.” He kisses her forehead. “You had every right to be cross with me. As I’ve said before, you’re a grown woman, it was hypocritical of me not to trust you to know what you want.”  


“You were right though,” she rakes her nails up and down the back of his neck and cherishes the little involuntary shiver she get’s in response, “I would be lying if I said I was over...you know, and there are a lot of guys who wouldn't have thought twice about taking advantage of that. It was really sweet that you were concerned about me.”  


“But my concern was misplaced.” He puts a hand on either side of her face and presses his forehead to hers. “You’re much too clever to be taken advantage of.”  


At that she moves her arms from his neck to around his waist and pulls him as close as she possibly can, burying her face in his chest. They stay that way for a moment, just listening to each other's breathing. then Abigail decides it’s now-or-never.  


“Hannibal?”  


“Hmm?”  


“You remember the conversation we had in the car last night right? On the way back?” She feels him tense against her but then he nods.  


“Well,” her voice cracks and she swallows, “I just wanted you to know that I love you to.”  
The silence afterward seems to stretch on for hours, she’s relieved when his grip on her tightens.He makes a noise between a laugh and a sob, then pulls back slightly to kiss her.  


“Oh, Abigail!” There’s a tenderness in his expression that borders on pain. “You've made me so happy!”  
He kisses her again on the forehead, then the mouth, then bends to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Relief floods Abigail s body at the realization that she did it! She actually said it and now the hard part is over!  


“I love you.” He whispers against the side of her neck then pulls back so that he’s looking into her eyes and their mouths are almost touching. “I promise you that as soon as the opportunity presents itself I will atone for my error in judgement.”  
Abigail feels her face get hot as she realizes what he means.  


“Which is why it makes it all the harder to tell you...” He pulls back a little more, “that I will be out of town for the next few days.”  


“Huh?” Abigail suddenly snaps back to focus as though someone's poured ice water down her back. “Where and why?”  


“My presence has been requested on a case.” His expression is the picture of repentance and Abigail suddenly finds herself unable to be angry with him. She sighs but then kisses him again.  


“It’s ok, it’s only four days, right?”  


“Right,” he tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear, “and when I return, it would be my great pleasure to have you for dinner...if you can manage.”  


“Don’t you worry about that.” She giggles.  
As she’s about to kiss him again, he gently pushes her away just in time for the nurse to enter and apologetically announce that visiting hours have come to an end.

Abigail regrets that she can’t kiss him goodbye.


	4. In which Will ruins everything.

Abigail spends the next few days going back and forth between elation and frustration. She tells herself that if she’s going to be with Hannibal she’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing. Hannibal has a lot of obligations and she certainly doesn't want him to think that she doesn't understand how important his job is to him. She doesn't want him to think that she’s the needy type ether. Still, why did Will Graham have to pick the worst possible time to call him away?  
It occurs to her then that she’s probably going to have to get over her discomfort around Will. It’s clear even to her that the two men are important to each other and Hannibal seems to have so few truly important people in his life that Abigail wouldn't dream of taking one away. Her hostility towards Will had never had anything to do with the man himself anyway, a part of her had been aware of that fact all along but she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. It was easier to take her hostility out on Will then it was to face all of the ugly things that she had grown to associate him with. Remembering her resolution of the day before, she promises herself that she’ll make peace with him as soon as she can.  


Her days in the hospital are uneventful but she supposes that’s the point, the last thing anyone here needs is more excitement. Outside of her therapy sessions and talks with her lawyer she spends most of her time reading (television isn't allowed here) and walking the grounds when everyone else is inside. She can’t go very far before hitting the wall that surrounds the hospital and she can’t climb over it unnoticed during the day, so this gets old quickly. At night she gets restless and goes into the woods. She had been familiarized with the forest at such a young age that she hadn't even had a chance to develop the fear of it that seems instinctive in most people.  


Tonight the moon is full and it reflects back up off of the snow, making the night quite bright. The barren trees silhouetted against the sky look, to her, like the skeletons of monsters and giants.The previous days rain has left a thin crust of ice over the top of the snow, amplifying her footsteps. When she comes to a spot where she can clearly see the moon she sits down on a fallen tree, wrapping her arms around herself against the stinging cold. She doesn't know how long she sits there watching the moon and her own breath curling out of her in wisps of steam.  


She thinks about how little of the world she’s seen in her short life and about how close she came to never having a chance to see any more of it. She tries to remember all the places that Hannibal has casually mentioned having been, wonders what the moon looks like from Paris or Venice or Vienna and feels very small. This leads her to wonder what Hannibal had been like at her age. During one of their conversations, he had once described himself as having been a “temperamental, impulsive, foolishly romantic boy.” Somehow she can’t imagine him having ever been any different than he is now, having ever not been as in control as he always seems to be, but the thought that he may not have been is strangely comforting. If that’s the sort of thing you can learn over time, then maybe she can be like that someday, maybe he can show her how.  


She sits there for as long as she can, until she can barely feel her extremities, and then begrudgingly gets up and starts her walk back to the hospital. It occurs to her that she doesn't even know what time it is but she still doesn't bother to hurry. It’s one of those nights when her room feels stifling and she desperately wants to be pretty much anywhere else but since Hannibal isn't home she has nowhere to run to. She briefly contemplates going into the city, there’s bound to be something open, but decides that she can’t risk being seen. It suddenly hits her how pathetic it is that she can’t think of anywhere to go except the house of the guy she’s dating (she still can’t bring herself to call him her “boyfriend”) and for a shameful moment she really misses being part of a family.  


By the time she gets back to her room she feels half frozen. She changes into her nightgown, brushes her teeth and curls up in the fetal position under her quilt. When she feels a dull ache blossom in her chest, she convinces herself that it’s of the same origin as the dull ache that fills her limbs as they begin to thaw. Luckily the cold seems to have sapped more of her energy then she had thought so sleep doesn't take long to find her. She dreams about a time when she was little (and blissfully naive) and her dad took her fishing. When she awakes she only vaguely remembers her dream but she does remember that during it she felt happy in spite of herself.  


The days pass uniformly, save Sunday when Freddy Lounds comes to visit her. They talk more about the book but not for very long. Mrs. Lounds offers to come back on a day when Abigail is feeling more “up to it” and Abigail takes her up on her offer. Hannibal has been tactfully not mentioning the book ever since their relationship began but Abigail knows he hasn't forgotten about it, she doesn't miss his subtle cringe (a sort of muted echo of Will’s not-so-subtle cringe) every time Freddy Lounds is mentioned. She realizes that he’s not bringing it up because he doesn't want to ruin how good things have been going between them lately and she’s so touched by that that now she can’t talk about the book without her guts twisting into a guilty knot. She briefly wonders if maybe the man she loves is some sort of master of passive aggressive manipulation but then dismisses the notion as paranoid.  


On the day Hannibal returns Abigail is sitting in the common room pretending to be absorbed in a game of solitaire. In reality she’s watching the door out of the corner of her eye and her thoughts are racing. Had he said when specifically he’d be getting back? Did he mean he'd be returning on Monday or did he actually mean Sunday night? If it was the former he might not show up until later in the evening (it was currently 2:27 p.m.) but if it was the later then he really had no excuse for not having shown up yet.  


She hears the door open and her heart leaps into her throat, then drops slightly when she sees that while it is Hannibal, he has Will Graham with him. She remembers that she’d planned to make her peace with Will, but now is not the time. Will comes over to where she’s sitting and she pretends not to notice him until he places a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at Will before looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with Hannibal for what she hopes isn't a noticeably long time. Hannibal nods his acknowledgment and a smile briefly flickers across his placid features.  


“Hey,” Will greets her in the tone he always uses when he’s trying to act like speaking to her doesn't make him uncomfortable, “we just got back from a case in Williamsburg and...and you were on the way, so we thought we’d stop and see how you were holding up.”  


“Oh, ok.” She looks in the general direction of his face, but not directly at his eyes. “Do you wanna’ sit down?”  


“Actually,” both their heads turn toward Hannibal, “I think Will would appreciate it, and I would, if we could go somewhere more private.”  


Abigail felt her stomach sink, if Hannibal had been alone the request wouldn't have bothered her, but Will only ever asked for privacy when he wanted to talk to her about the sorts of things that usually led to arguments.She really wasn't up for an argument right now.  


“I’d be more comfortable here, if it’s all the same to you.” Now she does look into his eyes and feels a little triumphant thrill when he abruptly looks away.  


“Abigail-” There’s slight agitation in Will voice before Hannibal cuts him off.  


“Or course we want to to be comfortable.” He nods in concession towards Abigail before shooting will a warning glance.  


“Of course!” Will’s tone borders on sarcastic and his smile is forced as he pulls out the chair across from her and sits down. Hannibal remains standing, but moves to lean against the wall behind Abigail. They sit in awkward silence for fifteen grueling seconds before Abigail, in her desperation, blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.  


“Did you catch the...” She stops herself before she says ‘bad guy’ and starts over. “How did the case go?”  


“It’s kind of hard to tell at this point.” Will’s trying not to sound irritated, he’s leaning on the table with his hands in front of him, looking at his own fingers.  


“Will has offered up all the incite he can for the time being,” Abigail starts a little when Hannibal speaks and has to lean back in her chair to look at him, “most of what remains is lab work.”  


“And you don’t do that part?” She looks back at Will.  


“Not really, no.” Will glances up at her, then decides he prefers the cards in front of her. “But if they find me new evidence I might be able to tell them more about what we’re looking for.”  


“Why did Dr. Lecter need to be there,” she’s glad that she didn’t slip and call him Hannibal, “if you’re the one...profiling?”  


“He’s a psychiatric consultant.” Will’s started to anxiously pick at his nails now.  


“What’s that mean?”  


“Sometimes,” Hannibal interjects when Will seems to have trouble answering, “it’s helpful for Will to have someone to bounce ideas off of.”  


“Oh.” The conversation just sort of locks up then, Abigail feels a faint stirring of panic when she realizes that she can’t think of anything to say to keep it moving. She hears Hannibal take a breath as if he’s about to speak, but Will beats him to it.  


“Did you have any visitors over the weekend?” He tries to make it sound like a casual inquiry but Abigail can see the suppressed disgust in his eyes. She decides there’s no point in drawing it out.  


“You mean like Freddy Lounds?” She sees Will wince, imagines that she can feel Hannibal wince.  


“Yeah,” one of his hands, still in front of him on the table, curls into a fist, “exactly like Freddy Lounds.”  


“That’s none of your business.” She hisses and is proud of how calm she sounds until she jumps at the feel of Hannibal’s hand on her shoulder.  


“Will is just concerned that you may be being taken advantage of.”  


“If he is I think he can say that himself.” It comes out angrier than she’d wanted it to and she instantly feels bad, he’s just trying to keep the peace after all. Then something occurred to her and suddenly all her attention is back on will.  


“Wait, how do you even know she was here?”  


“That’s none of your business.” Will finally takes his eyes off of the table in order to glare at her.  


“Did doctor Bloom tell you?” Her voice cracks and her eyes begin to sting at the thought of the betrayal.  


“Abigail.” Hannibal finally comes around to where she can see him. “I have never known Alana to break confidentiality.”  


“That’s not really a ‘no’, is it?” She can’t bring herself to look at Hannibal, so she glares at Will instead. “You know what? I’m suddenly really tired. I think you should leave.”  


For a moment Will looks as though he might object but then he notices that the commotion at their table has caught the attention of a nearby nurse who’s now watching them warily. He gets up and stomps out of the room. Hannibal sighs and puts his hand back on her shoulder, squeezing slightly until she looks up at him. When their eyes meet her expression softens and she reaches up to put her hand on top of his. He waits a few seconds before withdrawing his hand to walk away and, as he does, a neatly folded piece of paper falls into her lap.  


Abigail goes immediately to her room and falls back on the bed, closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing. The piece of paper is in the pocket of her jeans but she can’t read it now, she needs to calm down first. If she hadn't been so angry, she might have giggled over the fact that Doctor Hannibal Lecter had just passed her a note as though they were high school sweethearts in study hall, but for the time being all she can do is fume over how Will Graham had ruined a reunion that she’d been looking forward to for four days. She lays there a few minutes with her eyes closed taking slow deep breaths until she feels her heart rate slow down. When she unfolds the paper she finds only simple instructions written in not-quite-perfect handwriting (a sign that he must have been in a rush when he wrote the note) instructing her to go to a specific intersection that was about a five minute walk from the hospital and that he would be waiting there for her.  


It’s an unseasonably warm night as Abigail makes her way to the designated meeting place. The abrupt thaw has produced a small flood, the ground is sodden, the gutters along the side of the road have turned into small streams. The dense fog adds to the secretive thrill Abigail feels and she focuses on that feeling in a not entirely successful effort to push all thoughts of what happened earlier out of her mind. Tonight her and Hannibal are finally going to take their relationship to the next level, she tells herself that she will not let anything ruin this for her. Her heart flutters when she sees Hannibal's car parked alongside the road near the intersection.  


Once they've greeted each other, they’re silent throughout the rest of the drive. Abigail doesn't mind this, especially since Hannibal keeps reaching over and touching her whenever the task of driving permits. He puts his hand on top of hers, a few times he pretends to miss and touches her knee instead. By the time they get to his house she’s nervous but in a good way and Will Graham and all the worlds other little irritants have ceased to exist. Tonight it’s just the two of them.  
He barely has a chance to remove his coat before she’s on him, her arms around his neck and her mouth devouring his. He makes his appreciation of her boldness evident, he wraps one arm around her waist and brings his other hand up to cradle the back of her head. When they part they are both breathless, he pulls her flush against him and buries his face in her hair. He inhales deeply before placing a kiss to the top of her head.  


“Sweet girl.” Hannibal purrs. “My sweet, sweet girl.” 

For a moment she’s content to just stay like that, listening to him breath, smelling his cologne, feeling the heat of his body, but then she remembers what tonight is about and that hunger flares up in her again. She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him just far enough away so that she can look up into his eyes. One of her hands slides up to the back of his neck. He leans in and kisses her forehead but then draws back again.  


“I believe, Mrs. Hobbs, that I promised you dinner.”  


Abigail is almost frustrated at his seeming stalling, but then he smiles and she can’t be. Instead she reminds herself that there’s no need to rush, nods, and follows him into the kitchen. Anyway, it’s not as though she doesn't like watching him cook.  


He pours her a glass of red wine and then sets about preparing what he says is a “simple dish” but when Abigail asks exactly what it is he gives an explanation that sounds very complicated. She decides that she doesn't need to understand what it is as long as it tastes good (which Hannibal's cooking always does.) In spite of herself, as she sits and watches him work, her earlier argument with Will replayes in her mind. She downs half her glass in one swallow and tries to forget about it, but her traitorous brain won't stop reminding her of how Hannibal had taken Wills side. Feeling unwelcome agitation start to prickle at the back of her mind, she downs the other half of her glass and then pours herself another from the bottle which Hannibal has helpfully left on the counter beside her.  
Hannibal looks up from what he’s doing and arches an eyebrow.  


“You seem a little tense.”  


“It’s nothing.” Abigail forces a smile.  


“Good,” he looks away from her but his tone suggests that he’s not at all convinced. “I was concerned that you may dwelling on that..unpleasantness that happened earlier.”  


He just goes quiet after that and the silence that he leaves quickly turns into an unbearable vacuum that Abigail can resist the urge to fill.  


“Actually,” She tries to keep her tone light as though the topic of conversation left her only mildly irritated. “It did kind of bother me.”  


“What specifically are you referring to as it?” He still doesn't look up, the only sign that he’s grown wary is a barely perceptible tensing of his shoulders.  


“I don’t know,” she does know but she’s far from eager to launch into this. “The whole thing, the way you’re not even trying to understand my side of it...the way you took Will’s side.” Hannibal heaves a barely audible sigh and his mouth sets in the way it always does when he’s irritated and trying not to show it.  


“First of all,” his tone is calculatedly calm and measured. “I do understand.”  


“You do?” what she wanted to say was ‘you have a funny way of showing it’ but she decides to take a slightly less combative route.  


“Of course,” he looks up but his hands keep working. “Since this began you've been the constant topic of a conversation in which you've been essentially denied the right to take part. People have speculated about you, speaking for you and speaking against you but apart from Mrs. Lounds none of them have bothered to speak to you. It’s not difficult to understand why you’d want to be allowed to add your own voice to the conversation, to represent yourself. In fact I’d dare say that you’re even entitled to do so.”  


“Then why don’t you want me to write the book?” He’s looking a little too intensely at the the chopped vegetables in front of him as though trying to chose his words carefully. Abigail continues before he has a chance to speak. “You know I wouldn't put anything in there that would hurt you, right?”  


“I’ve never suspected that you would.” He pauses here and looks apprehensive, as though he knows that what he’s about to say is going to upset her. “I will admit that my concerns are more for Mr. Graham than for myself.”  


“Yeah,” Abigail feels her throat tighten. “That kinda’ seems to be the case most of the time.”  


Defensive rage flashes in Hannibal's eyes for a fraction of a second but his expression remains the same.  


“Abigail,” he takes a deep breath before he continues. “Will is my patient and my colleague and my friend. I would be remiss not to have his best interest at heart.”  


“Is that how is gonna’ be then?” She feels strangely hot and light headed (but she’s only had one glass of wine hasn't she?) and seems unable to stop the words from coming out. “Are you always going to side with him against me?”  


“My darling,” he sounds more exasperated now than angry. “I am not against you and for that matter neither is Will.”  


At that Abigail starts to laugh, she’s not even entirely sure why, and keeps laughing until it dissolves into choked sobs. She feels a strange tilting sensation, like she’s on a boat on a windy day but the room doesn't seem to be moving.  


“You can’t tell me you honestly believe that bullshit about him not wanting me to get taken advantage of.” He openly glares at her, he doesn't like it when she uses ‘foul language’, but now she can’t stop herself. “The only reason Will cares about me at all is because he feels guilty and you know what? I don’t see why I should be responsible for making him feel better!”  


“Abigail,” there’s a tightly coiled warning in his tone as he walks around the counter to stand in front of her and takes her wine glass out of her hand. When he speaks his tone implies that what he’s saying is more of a command then a suggestion. “I think you need to calm down.”  


“Or what?” In some distant part of her mind she realizes that this is the first time she’s ever snapped at him and feels a little guilty about it. Now she thinks that the room is tilting...or is she tilting? Her mouth seems to be moving on it’s own, without any help from her brain. “You’ll take me back to the hospital? That’s really convenient for you isn't it? Whenever you get sick of me you can just send me back to the loony bin!”  


“You are acting like a child.” Hannibal's voice is a venomous hiss and his eyes are somehow darker and brighter at the same time, this is the angriest she’s ever seen him.  


“That’s-” She was going to say ‘that’s how you see me isn't it?’ but she doesn't get the chance. She slides off of the counter and as her feet hit the floor her knees buckle and for a few seconds everything goes black. When she regains her vision she’s kneeling on the floor and Hannibal is kneeling in front of her, looking into her face with urgent concern.  


“Look at me!” He had been talking before, but she hadn't been able to make out what he was saying. He continues in a gentler tone, edged with guilt. “Please look at me Abigail.”  


When she tilts her head up to look into his eyes her whole body seems to want to follow it, his grip on her shoulders is the only thing that keeps her from rocking back and hitting her head on the counter behind her.  


“Have you eaten today Abigail?” His thumb slides down to press against the pulse point on her throat, just above her scar.  


“I...I don’t know.” Her mind is suddenly sluggish and cloudy and she feels a strange, involuntary relaxation rippling its way through her limbs. When she talks it comes out slurred. “What kind of wine is that?” Hannibal's hand slides up from her throat to the side of her face and she leans into it, smiling involuntarily.  


“How have you been sleeping?”  


“Not really been much.” As soon as she says it it occurs to her how little sense it makes and she laughs at herself.  


“I think you should lie down.” He grabs her arm and puts it around his neck and then picks her up bridal style. The sudden change in altitude makes her head swim and she laughs again.  


“You’re really strong.” She murmurs against his neck.  


He carries her to his room and lays her down on his bed on top of the comforter. The edges of her vision are starting to blur. When he moves to stand back up she tightens her grip around his neck, keeping him bent over her, and gives him a soft, wet kiss on the mouth.  


“Sweet girl,” he smiles and strokes her hair before gently prying her arms off of him. “You need to rest, what you’re feeling are most likely the effects of exhaustion.”  


“Ok.” She lays back on the pillow but then reaches over and grabs his hand. “Could you stay with me?”  


“Of course.” He removes his hand from her grip and walks around the bed to lay beside her. He lays one arm across her waist and kisses her on the cheek. In the few seconds it takes Abigail to fade into unconsciousness she thinks how odd it is that she could become so exhausted without even noticing it, less than an hour ago she hadn't even felt tired. She mentally shrugs off the thought and nestles closer to Hannibal and then everything just ....stops.

Hannibal stays there holding her until he hears her breathing even out. Confident that it won’t wake her, he reaches over and turns on the lamp beside the bed. For a moment he looks at her, takes in her placid expression and lidded eyes, her hair spread out around her, and thinks that she’s beautiful like this...his little Ophelia. Possessiveness and lust begin to stir inside him but he forces himself to ignore them, reminds himself that after tonight he’ll be allowed to indulge all he likes but now there is work still to do. He’s too close to let his own baser urges spoil things. He takes a few deep breaths to slow his heart rate and then, detached and mechanical, begins to remove her clothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you leave me a comment, I will love you five-ever.


	5. In which Abigail dreams and Dr. Gideon suspects he may be getting shafted.

Abigail dreams...  


She knows it’s a dream because she’s walking through the woods and it’s summer...and her dad is there. They’re on one of the hiking trails near the cabin, the setting sun is casting golden light through the trees and the crickets are starting to sing. Abigail doesn't feel scared or worried or angry, just at peace. In the dream she can’t remember anything outside the present moment and the present moment is perfect. Her and her dad are holding hands and he’s talking to her about something, she doesn't remember what exactly but that doesn't matter. She’s just listening to his voice.  


They walk along a few minutes before they come to a clearing. Abigail could have sworn that she knew every path in those woods but she doesn't recognize this place. She looks over at her dad but he isn't her dad anymore, he’s Will, or maybe he’s been Will the whole time and she just hasn't noticed. Either way, the her that she is in the dream isn't alarmed by this. She smiles and he smiles back, more genuine and warm than anything she’s ever seen on the real Will’s face.  


“Well,” he lets go of her hand and walks ahead of her to stand in the middle of the clearing. “Here’s as good a place as any I guess.”  


The sun seems to set in the time it takes her to walk over to him because by the time she gets there the golden light from before is gone, replaced with the silvery light of the moon. Without knowing why, Abigail goes to lay down on the ground but he stops her.  


“You’re going to want to take that off first.” He says, motioning to the sun dress she’s wearing. She nods and pushes the straps off of her shoulders, steps out of the dress, notes with a little amusement that Will is looking away. She lays down on the short, soft grass in front of him. Once she’s settled he kneels down beside her and starts rifling through a canvas bag that’s on the ground beside him. She doesn't remember him having been carrying it on the walk to the clearing.  


“How does the story end?” Had he been telling her a story? He must have been because when she asks this he looks at her and smiles indulgently.  


“Oh,” he takes a knife out of the bag, starts to sharpen it. “Well how it usually goes in modern tellings is that a woodsman gets to the the cabin just in time to stop the wolf from killing little Red and he kills the wolf and Red lives. There’s another telling where the wolf eats little Red and her grandmother, but then the woodsman shows up and carves him open while he’s sleeping and fills his stomach with rocks.”  
At this Abigail laughs and Will laughs too.  


“Yeah, that ones pretty ridiculous.” He smiles and goes on. “In the original telling the wolf, who you’ll remember is still playing the part of little Red’s grandmother, climbs into bed and tells little Red to come lay with him. He tells her ‘take off your hat my child and throw it into the fire, you won’t be needing it any more.’ He tells her ‘take off your coat my child and throw it into the fire, you won't be needing it any more.”  
With each repetition he makes another pass over the blade, he keeps his eyes on her face.  
“He says to her ‘take off your dress my child and throw it into the fire, you won’t be needing it any more.’ He says this over and over again until all her garments have been burned and then he says to her ‘come and lay with me my child.’”  
Will pauses and his expression goes blank, he sits very still and stares into Abigail's eyes until finally she breaks the silence.  


“What happens then?”  


“Then,” he swallows. “He eats her.”  


“No woodsman?”  


“Nope, no woodsman.”  


He looks back down at the knife and keeps sharpening but then pauses and looks off into the trees. His brows furrow and a slight frown twists his lips.  


“What’s wrong?” Abigail wants to sit up and look but she can’t move, her body feels like it’s been filled with wet sand.  


“Don’t you hear that?” Will’s voice sounds like it’s very far away but Abigail can suddenly hear the sound he’s talking about, it sounds like two voices having a conversation but she can’t make out what they’re saying. She blinks and when she opens her eyes she’s back in Hannibal’s room. Her vision is very blurry so that she can only see what’s being directly touched by the light given off by the lamp on the bed side table. She realizes that there are two men, a young black man in a tweed suit and a middle aged man with a mustache and goatee, standing at the end of the bed and suddenly becomes all too aware of the fact that she’s naked. She can’t move her body and when she tries to speak she finds that it takes all the strength she can muster just to open her mouth, only to have no sound come out.  


“I’m just saying” says the middle aged man. “I had to kill my entire family and all he had to do was pitch woo to some cute little barely legal chick. It just kinda’ seems to me like the work load might not be quite evenly divided. Particularly when you take the, ahem (he motions to his own body, he’s wearing a grey jumpsuit) aftermath into account.”  


“Well,” the younger man’s voice manages to sound both flat and irritated. “If you’d been more careful, there wouldn't have been any aftermath.”  


“Forgive me, robo maestro, for being a creature of passion and impulse. We can’t all be automatons like you.”  


“I suppose there’s a reason I never had much use for passion.”  


The middle aged man winds up as though to deliver a particularly witty come back but is cut off by the closing of the bedroom door which, to Abigail’s ears, reverberates around the room like a gunshot.  


“Gentlemen.” Hannibal’s voice comes from somewhere behind the two men. They both fall silent and straighten up like children who’s teacher has just walked into the room.  


“Good evening doctor.” The younger man’s tone is stiff and formal.  


“So, Lecter,” the middle aged man seems like the sort of person who rarely has the patience for formalities. “If this goes right do ‘ya think the man himself might actually put in some sort of appearance tonight?”  


“As if you have any right to demand-” the younger man sounds as though he’s about to launch into a tirade but Hannibal interrupts. Abigail can’t see him but he sounds like he’s off to her right.  


“Dr. Gideon, I assure you that after tonight any doubts that you may have will be laid firmly to rest.” He walks closer to her so that he’s just barely visible in her periphery. “Now, if you will both please take your positions we can begin.”  


“No offence or anything.” The middle aged man moves to the left side of the bed. “It’s just that, after the considerable contribution I’ve made, it would be nice to actually see something for once. This is starting to feel less like the conjuring of dark and ancient forces and more like three grown men hanging out together in a dark room reading poetry out of old books by candlelight. I guess what I’m saying is that if you’re trying to seduce me, there are a lot less round about ways of doing it.”  


The younger man sneers, but Hannibal interjects before he can say anything.  


“Mr. Budge, if you’d be so kind as to begin the incantation.”  


“Dr. Lecter,” the younger man (Mr.Budge) looks vaguely distressed. “Are you sure we shouldn't be doing this in the original Latin? I mean, I speak Latin as well as I do English and-”  


“Show off.” Dr. Gideon grumbles under his breath.  


“This will be fine.” Hannibal is talking to Mr. Budge but glaring at Dr. Gideon. “The meaning and intent are more important that the specific words and I thought it might be easier for the two of you to do it in your native tongue.”  


“Hey Lecter.” both the other men look over at Dr. Gideon who is looking directly into Abigail's eyes, her heart races but she still can’t move or speak. “Is it a problem that her eyes are open.”  


“It shouldn't be,” Hannibal's tone is a little irritated but not concerned. “She drank the whole glass.”  
Gideon reaches as though to touch her face but pulls his hand back when Hannibal makes a noise not unlike a growl.  


“Alright then,” Mr. Budge’s tone is suddenly all business. “I will begin the incantation, after two repetitions you will join me and follow my rhythm exactly.”  


At 'exactly' he looks over at Dr. Gideon.  


“You think I don’t know how to fuckin’ chant?” He takes a step toward Mr. Budge.  


“It’s not my fault you have no rhythm.” Mr. Budge matches Gideon's step with a tilt of his head.  


“If I smack him, will it mess up the whole ritual thing?” Gideon looks toward Hannibal.  


“Gentlemen.” It sounds like Hannibal is speaking through gritted teeth, at the warning the other two settle down. “Begin.”  


Mr. Budge centers himself at the end of the bed again, placing his hands on the foot board on either side of him. He lowers his head reverently and begins to chant in a firm, steady whisper.  


“Arch angel, dark angel,  


lend me thy light,  


through death’s veil ‘til we have heaven in sight.  


Arch angel, dark angel,  


lend me thy light,  


through death's veil ‘til we have heaven in sight.”

As he begins the third repetition the other two join in. Their voices seem to fill all the space around her and she feels weightless, as though floating on the current of their words. It’s overwhelming and terrifying and she wants desperately to scream or to struggle but she can’t. Abigail's heart is racing as she’s dragged unwillingly back down into darkness.  


When she gains awareness again she’s back in the field with Will kneeling over her, he looks like he’s panicked but trying not to show it. She can still hear the chanting and she knows that he can hear it too. He looks down at her and places the knife between her breasts.  


“It’s gonna’ be ok.” He slices into her and for a second she’s back in Hannibal’s room and it’s Hannibal leaning over her and the knife pressed against her sternum is a paint brush and that paint brush is leaving a trail of something warm and thick down the center of her chest. Abigail blinks and is back in the field. Will has split her open and is buried up to his elbows in her abdomen, she can feel his hands moving but it doesn't hurt. He seems to be intently searching for something inside her.  


“Don’t worry baby girl.” It’s what her dad used to call her but for some reason in this context it sounds perfectly natural coming out of Will’s mouth. “I just need to-”  


A crack of thunder drowns out what he says after that and then Abigail is back in Hannibal's room...she thinks. It’s so dark she can’t see anything at all, but from the other side of the room she can hear breathing. It’s not human breathing, it’s the raspy panting of a big animal, like a horse or a cow. She hears the creaking of floor boards and tries struggling again with the same result as before, she does manage a barely audible whimper. She feels something cold brush against her leg.  


Something settles on top of her, something hard as stone and covered in feathers and scales. She feels hot breath on her collar bone followed by the brush of something slimy. This time Abigail manages a scream, but it’s a pitiful choked little thing and somehow she knows that no one is going to help her anyway. She’s hit with a fresh wave of panic as she feels her legs being pulled apart. All she can do is sob as she feels something pressing against her entrance.  


As panic overwhelms her she’s suddenly back in the field again. The sky is completely black now and as lightning flashes from behind the clouds she sees that Will is gone. It begins to rain and, though she still can’t feel any pain, she feels her insides going cold. She tries to call out to Will, to beg him not to leave her, but with her rib cage pulled open her lungs no longer work. Off in the distance she can hear a large animal, like a horse or a cow, breathing.

When Abigail wakes up she’s alone in Hannibal's room still fully clothed and laying on top of the covers.Sunlight is streaming through the rooms one large window and, despite the fact that nothing seems amiss, she can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong.There was something she was supposed to remember, she thinks, but the night before seems to have left only a vague, faint imprint in her mind. She remembers arguing with Hannibal in the kitchen and then...pain in her knees and then him picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. She knows there was more after that, something very important, but every time she tries to bring it into focus it dissolves.  


By her fully clothed state, Abigail deduces that her and Hannibal couldn't have had sex and feels a mild pang of disappointment. Though she supposes she shouldn't be too disappointed that he hadn't taken advantage of her while she was, apparently, blacked out. She’s a little unsteady on her feet when she stands up but only takes a moment to adjust. After carefully smoothing out the imprint that her body left in the comforter and checking the mirror over Hannibal’s dresser to make sure her hair isn't too bad, she opens the door. After making her way down the hallway at a deliberately slow pace, she finds Hannibal in the dining room, setting two places at the table.  


“Good morning,” he walks over and kisses her lightly on the lips. “I've already telephoned Dr. Bloom since I thought it would look suspicious if I didn't. I told her I’d return you after I fed you breakfast.”  


“Sounds good.” She smiled uneasily back up at him and then brushes past him to go sit at the table. He goes back into the kitchen and returns with the food, poached eggs, at least she can identify this one. They eat in silence until he seems to grow suspicious of the fact that she’s not talking.  


“How did you sleep?” It’s an innocuous enough question but in the time she’s known him Abigail has learned that inquiring after your health or how you've slept or rather or not you've eaten is Hannibal's polite way of asking ‘what’s wrong with you?’  


“This is going to sound weird, but could you tell me what happened last night?”  


“Do you mean after you collapsed?” He asks almost conversationally.  


“I...collapsed?” She sets her fork down. “You mean I fainted?”  


“I’m afraid so.” He shoots her a sympathetic look. “Don’t you remember?”  


Abigail can only shake her head.  


“Well,” now he puts his fork down. “We were in the kitchen...discussing your...interactions with Mrs. Lounds, do you remember that much?”  


She nods.  


“You became...a bit hysterical, do you remember what you said?”  


She shakes her head.  


“Ah,” his brow furrows. “Well, you were sitting on the counter and when you went to stand you collapsed onto the floor. Do you remember that?”  


“Kind of.” She picks her fork back up and begins to shuffle her food around absently just to have something to focus on.  


“Do you remember me bringing you into the bedroom?”  


“Kind of.” She blushes a little at the way his voice goes quieter when he says the word bedroom. “Did anything happen after that?”  


“Oh, Abigail.” His expression turns sad. “Of course not.”  


“No, no.” She back pedals as quickly as she can. “I just meant... were there...people here? After I fell asleep?”  


“No, why do you ask?”  


“I just remember....” She doesn't know what she remembers. “Voices.”  


He sighs, reaches over and puts his hand on hers.  


“Sweet girl...you've been under a great deal of pressure, haven’t you?”  


“Yeah.” She turns her hand over so that she can thread her fingers through his.  


“Tell me, do they give you anything at the hospital to help you sleep?”  


“No, I mean, they offered but I didn't want it.”  


“You would be surprised what lack of sleep can do to the mind and the body.” He glances away from her. “Have you considered taking it?”  


“No,” she shakes her head as if to emphasize the point. “If I did that they’d make me take it at lights out and then...and then I don’t know when I’d be able to come see you.”  


“That is a problem.” He looks at her face for a few moments, she can see the wheels in his head turning. “How about this, you promise me you’ll take the tranquilizers...four night a week? That leaves the other three open...at least until I can find a more permanent solution. Can you do that for me Abigail?”  


“I guess.” She’s reluctant but when he looks at her like that, concerned and imploring, she can’t say no.  


“That’s my sweet girl.” He kisses her on the cheek and then goes back to his meal.

When they return to the hospital (Hannibal can bring her right up to the gate this time), Dr. Bloom is waiting for her with a very unconvincing smile on her face. They have a talk about why Abigail ran away and why she ran to Dr. Lecter’s house specifically. Abigail says that she had been feeling anxious and she went to Dr. Lecter because she feels safe around him. It’s not a lie. That night Abigail takes her medicine like a good girl and falls asleep earlier than she has in months.  


She does not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chant that Tobias starts is Satanic Mantra by Cradle of Filth...because I honestly couldn't think what else to put there.


	6. In which Freddy is annoyingly perceptive and Abigail is surprised to find herself defending Will.

Abigail awakes the next morning, still slightly groggy from the tranquilizer, with the echo of another dream she can’t remember still reverberating in her mind. All she remembers is that she had been back in the clearing. She doesn't remember exactly what it refers to, but the phrase ‘the clearing’ definitely stands out in her mind. She can also remember being alone and terrified. She stands and stretches, trying to dispel the chemically induced heaviness in her limbs, and then ambles down the hall to the bathroom to take a very cold shower.  


She walks back to her room in her robe and removes it after she’s locked her door. As she’s about to begin applying her moisturizer something in the full length mirror behind her catches her eye. Abigail walks over to the mirror and examines herself. Her knees are badly bruised from her landing on them the night before last...there’s also a red blotch on her collar bone, like some sort of rash. The blotch burns slightly, like a sunburn, when she touches it. She turns around and examines her back to see faint red lines on her left shoulder and wonders if maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep.  
She sits out in the common room and reads most of the day. Come meal time she finds her appetite strangely absent and decides that she’s going to ask Dr. Bloom for a complete list of the side effects of the tranquilizer she’s on. Something feels...off but she can’t put her finger on it. The rest of that day passes as a grey blur. She goes to bed that night feeling vaguely sick.  


The next morning is a little better, but not much, and she considers asking to be put on a different tranquilizer. Abigail just wants to go outside and walk, try to clear the fog around her brain, but she can’t. It’s continued to get warmer since the night she met Hannibal at the intersection. Now it’s about 50 degrees, there’s a constant shroud of dense, sticky fog and the ground is roughly the consistency of cake batter. She spends the whole day in her room alternating between pacing and napping.  
The visit she gets from Freddy Lounds the next day is like an oasis in the desert. They talk about the book, as usual. Things are starting to take shape but they hit a snag when the day her father died comes up.  


“Do we really need to go into specifics about...that day?” Abigail tries to keep her tone neutral. “I mean, the books supposed to be all about my perspective anyway and pretty much everything that has anything to do with Will Graham has been printed in a million papers already, so it’s not like there’s a need to rehash it.”  


“Well sure they’ve read about it, but they haven't heard it from you. They haven’t read what you were thinking or what you were feeling. Abigail, honey, you've seen things that no one else has seen and you know things no one else knows. This was one of the biggest stories of the decade and you were closer to it than anyone else.Trust me, the public is going to eat up you’re every word.”  


Mrs. Lounds is leaning forward slightly in her chair, an eager smile on her face. She looks like a very pretty, well styled hyena.  


“I know,” Abigail tries to think of a way to phrase what she’s about to say that won’t provoke a stream of questions but realizes that, since this is Freddy Lounds, a stream of questions is pretty much inevitable. “I’d just be more comfortable if we could not put any more about Will and Dr. Lecter in there than necessary.”  


“Why?” Mrs. Lounds arches one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and just.. waits.  


“Well, like you said, it supposed to be my story.”  


“But aren't they a part of your story?” Mrs. Lounds says the next part in a tone more fitting for a town gossip than a reporter. “From what I hear, they've both been visiting you pretty frequently.”  


“Who told you that?” Abigail goes rigid.  


“Don’t worry, I've just been chatting with some of the orderlies, nothing untoward. All they told me was that Mr. Graham comes around about once every week or so and Lecter about two or three times a week.” She gives Abigail a look that might be suggestive but Abigail isn't entirely sure she’s not just being paranoid.  


“Their just worried about me...” Abigail s voice sounds strained and thin even to her own ears.  


“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Lounds gives her a you-poor-little-girl look. “Let me guess, they told you they’re worried about me ‘taking advantage’ right?”  
She takes Abigail’s silence as a confirmation.  


“And, of course, since Mr. Graham has the bed side manner of a squirrel on coke it only makes sense that he’d send Lecter to handle the part that actually requires persuasion.”  


“Dr. Lecter’s been really nice to me.” It’s all Abigail can think to say.  


“Abigail,” Mrs. Lounds heaves a theatrical, exasperated sigh. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed how Dr. Lecter shadows Graham like a guard dog? How much do you want to bet that every time he comes to talk to you it’s because Graham’s been whining to him about how big, mean Freddy Lounds won’t respect his privacy.”  


“Well... he did kind of save my life.” Abigail is surprised to find herself coming to Will’s defense, then again, it’s not just Will’s defense. “They both did.”  


“Well the I guess the question is, if that’s all the did, why wouldn't they want you putting it in the book?”  
Abigail abruptly glances away.  


“Abigail,” Mrs. Lounds is trying to look concerned but not quite nailing it. “If anything else has happened between you and Mr. Graham, you can tell me. Remember, the only reason I’m doing this is because I wan’t to help you.”  


“What?” Abigail almost laughs. “Me and Will?”  


“Considering how vulnerable you must feel after all you've been through, I think it’s downright cruel of him to use Lecter come in here with his air of authority and his paternal demeanor and try to and manipulate you. Frankly, it’s a little disgusting.”  


“Don’t talk about Hannibal that way!” Abigail didn't mean to shout, really, she didn't and she whispers the second half as if to compensate. “You don’t even know him.”  


“I don’t even know....” Something lights up in Mrs. Lounds eyes, something Abigail doesn't like. “...Hannibal?”  
In the time it takes Abigail to fumble for a response Freddy Lounds begins putting the pieces together in her head.  


“Exactly how close have you and ‘Hannibal’ gotten since he saved your life?”  


“I don’t know what you mean.” Abigail lies. “I...I call Will by his first name all the time.”  


“Yeah,” Mrs. Lounds laughs under her breath.” But Dr. Lecter seems to me like the sort of guy who’s selective about who he lets onto a first name basis with him.”  


“So...”  


“So how long have you and him been on a first name basis?”  


“It’s...nothing, would you just drop it.”  


“Ok,” Mrs. Lounds raises her hands in mock defensiveness. “We can leave that out of the book if you want...”  


“There’s nothing to leave out!”  


“It’s...O...K.” Mrs. Lounds leans forward and touches Abigail’s forearm, which Abigail immediately retracts. “Don’t be so defensive. I mean, admittedly, it seems like an odd match to me...what with him being over twice your age and all, but who am I to judge? Geeze, if you could see some of my ex boyfriends....”  


“He’s not my boyfriend.” Abigail’s relieved to be able to return to the familiar ground of half truths...she still hasn't ever called Hannibal her ‘boyfriend’.  


“Ok, ok....whatever it is, we can omit it, but you need to understand that that’s a pretty big omission and if we’re going to leave that out I’d prefer we not leave anything else out.”  


Abigail only looks at her, perplexed.  


“Since, as a journalist, it goes against my personal code of ethics to exclude any portion of the truth.”  


“You think I've been keeping things from you?”  


“Well...I didn't but....” Mrs. Lounds shrugs. “I also can’t help but notice that you’re not denying it any more.”  
Abigail can only look defeated.  


“Like I said,” Mrs. Lounds touches her forearm and this time she doesn't pull away. “I’m perfectly willing to keep that just between us girls, if you promise that you’re not going to withhold anything else.”  


Abigail nearly denies it again but then realizes how futile that will be. At this point even if it weren't true Mrs. Lounds would still proceed under the assumption that it was.  


“Ok.” Abigail’s voice is barely audible.  


“Ok.” Mrs. Lounds smiles triumphantly. “From now on, full disclosure.”  


Once Mrs. Lounds leaves, Abigail locks herself in her room. She has slowly become aware that she’s developed a reputation among the staff for being “reclusive” and among the other patients for being “stuck up.” She’s not particularly bothered by this since she has no desire to develop any personal connections to this place. Making friends here would feel too much like accepting the fact that this has become her life. She tells herself that she’ll ask Dr. Bloom about when she can leave here but then realizes that she doesn't know where she’d go. She has no money, no job and no family to speak of.  


She wonders if she should tell Hannibal that Mrs. Lounds knows about them now. Of coarse, that would only lead to another argument about the book. Then again, now that Mrs. Lounds has leverage over her she’s not even sure how much control she’ll have over what goes into the book anyway. Abigail wonders for a moment exactly how bad the repercussions would be if she were to try and pull the plug on the whole thing but then realizes how unwise that would be. Without the incentive of the book Mrs. Lounds would be far less inclined to keep the relationship a secret. For the first time she allows her self to consider that maybe her and Hannibal’s relationship doesn't need to stay a secret.  


Was it really so scandalous? It wasn't as though she was a child and couples had met under far more suspect circumstances. Besides, it had to be brought out into the open eventually. Did they need to wait until after her dad was out of the news? Until she was ‘older’? If so, how much older exactly? For a moment the fear that his feelings for her were just infatuation and that he may eventually get over them tries to claw it’s way back to the surface but she refuses to give it any attention. 

Hannibal shows up after dinner.Since the ground has solidified slightly, they’re able to go into the garden out behind the hospital where they can sit in relative privacy.She has been missing him and does want to talk to him, but there’s so much going through her mind that she’s afraid to open her mouth in case it all comes rushing out. She can’t pick a place to start. Hannibal sits in silence, as though waiting for her to speak, right up until it gets awkward where upon he mercifully breaks it.  


“Are you feeling any better?”  


“Yeah, the tranquilizers are making me kind of foggy, but I haven’t had any more...episodes so I guess that counts as better. Plus, it keeps me from dreaming.”  
Hannibal makes a thoughtful noise in his throat.  


“Why do you suppose it is that you can’t sleep?”  


“I don’t know,” Abigail sighs. “I guess it’s just that I spend all day trying not to think about...everything and then it all comes rushing in on me at night.”  


“Well, if you’re referring to what I think you’re referring to...” he looks over to confirm her understanding and she nods. “All I can tell you is to give it time. You have you’re whole life ahead of you and you would be surprised how quickly even the most traumatic of events can become...non-issues (on that one word his voice goes oddly cold) if you only put them in perspective.”  


Abigail thinks for a moment that he sounds a little too much like he’s speaking from experience.  


“Besides,” he reaches over and discreetly takes her hand, they can’t be entirely sure that no one is watching. “I’d like to think that I've given you more pleasant things to dwell on.”  


His smile makes her blush. She decides that now is as good a time as any to tell him that their...whatever it is is no longer as secret as it once was.  


“There’s kind of something I need to tell you...we might have a problem.”  


“Problem?”  


“Freddy Lounds was here earlier.”  


“That’s never seemed to bother you before.” Hannibal tries to keep his tone impartial but can’t stop himself from sneering just slightly at the end. Abigail decides that the best approach is to just get it over with as quickly as possible.  


“She knows about us.”  


“I see,” Hannibal’s jaw stiffens and his grip on her hand tightens just slightly, those are the only signs of his agitation. “And how did she come by this knowledge?”  


His tone is stern and she suddenly feels the disparity in their ages all too keenly.  


“I...I didn't mean to tell her...I never even actually said it. She does this...thing where she picks apart everything you say!”  


Hannibal’s expression becomes more thoughtful than angry.  


“I don’t blame you.” He strokes the back of her hand but keeps his gaze on something slightly to his left. “That woman has a knack for minding other peoples business.”  


His grip on her hand has gotten a little too tight, she pulls her hand away, bringing his attention back to her.  


“She said she’ll keep quiet about it if I start getting more...detailed in the book.” Abigail’s voice cracks a little. “I still don’t plan on telling her...everything.”  


“Naturally.”  


“But now that she knows I was hiding one thing, she’s probably gonna’ get more...aggressive and I’m not sure I can trust myself to...I mean, I’m not going to tell her but she might start picking apart everything I say and then she might start finding...holes in my story and then she might...she might...”  


“I know.” Hannibal’s expression is contemplative, he falls silent for a long moment. “I suppose if you decline to finish the book she plans to expose our...courtship?”  


Abigail nods, Hannibal looks thoughtful for a few more seconds.  


“Well, suppose we let her?”  


“But wouldn't that-”  


“There may be repercussions,among other things I’m sure Alana will be none too pleased with me, but any of them would be preferable to Mrs. Lounds prying into your past. God forbid she should find actual evidence.”  


“Do you think she could?’ Abigail’s stomach drops, the thought had honestly never occurred to her.  


“I wouldn't underestimate Mrs. Lounds, you’d be surprised what someone with so few scruples can accomplish if they feel they have enough to gain from it.”  


“Oh god!” Abigail suddenly can’t breath. Hannibal puts his arms around her and strokes her hair.  


“Relax my sweet girl, I said I’d protect you, did I not?”  


Abigail nods, presses closer to him.  


“But...won’t it be bad for you if everyone knows?”  


Hannibal laughs.  


“True, it will be treated as a scandal, which may lead some of my clients to...take their business else where but it’s hardly as though I need the money.” He pushes her back slightly and kisses her briefly on the lips.  


“And you are worth far more than a minor slight to my reputation.”  


“Thank you so much.” Abigail puts her arms around his neck.  


“Then it’s settled, the next time you see Mrs. Lounds, you tell her that you’re no longer interested in collaborating with her and then,” He kisses her again. “Come what may.”

When they walk back into the common room Dr. Bloom is waiting for them with a smile on her face.  


“So, did you ask her?” She addresses Hannibal.  


“Ah.” Hannibal looks mildly embarrassed and turns to Abigail. “Forgive me, I seem to have entirely forgotten the very reason for my visit.”  


Abigail just looks from Hannibal to Dr. Bloom and then back to Hannibal.  


“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to the opera on Friday.”  


“Really!” Abigail can’t stop herself from smiling. “I mean, I’d love to...if it’s ok.” She looks imploringly at Dr. Bloom who smiles back.  


“Of course it is. When Hannibal suggested it I though it was a good opportunity for you to get out. Lately you've seemed like you were going a little stir crazy and the theater is probably the last place the press would think to look for you.”  


“Thank you so much Dr. Lecter.” Abigail has to fight the urge to hug him. “That’s really generous.”  


“It’s no trouble at all Abigail. Now, if you don’t mind, there’s something I need to discuss with Dr. Bloom.” An understanding passes between them, Abigail nods and heads to her room.  


That night Abigail is glad to take her tranquilizer. Beneath her surface excitement over the fact that at the end of the week her and Hanibal would be going somewhere together, in public like an actual couple, there was a dense layer of apprehension. After her inevitable, uncomfortable confrontation with Freddy Lounds, the whole world would know about the two of them and then...‘come what may.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap between updates, I've been house sitting for my mom and she doesn't have wifi.


	7. In which Alana will be ok...eventually, and it's alright that Abigail doesn't speak German.

When Abigail walks into her office the next morning, Dr. Bloom is uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn't greet Abigail and pretends to be straightening papers on her desk for several minutes before coming to sit in the chair across from her. 

“So,” she gives a very strained smile. “Dr. Lecter and I had a very....long, very illuminating conversation last night during which he...informed me that in the near future certain...facts pertaining to you and him are going to become common knowledge and that he thought you might appreciate my support in dealing with the potential aftermath.” 

“Are you mad?” Abigail blurts it out before she can stop herself. 

“I’ll admit that my initial reaction was,” Dr. Bloom swallows and dips her head for just a moment, collecting herself. “Not positive, but once I got over the...surprise and calmed down a little and Dr. Lecter explained to me at great length how he never intended for this to happen and how he had gone out of his way to be considerate of your situation and the various vulnerabilities entailed there in, I've decided that I...can accept your...what’s going on between you.” 

“Really?” Abigail is so relieved she almost smiles, but then decides that it wouldn't be appropriate. 

“I've known Dr. Lecter for a very long time...I know that he’s a good man and I know that he wouldn't take advantage of you.” Dr. Bloom sighs and noticeably relaxes. 

“Besides, after all you've been through you deserve to be happy. So, if you've really thought this through and being with Hannibal really does make you happy, then it would be hypocritical of me not to support it... you have thought this through, right?” 

“Of course, Hannibal made sure I did.” It feels oddly liberating to finally be able to say his first name out loud in front of someone else. 

“Of course, and you’re both consenting adults.” She seemed to say that last part more for her own benefit than Abigail’s. 

There’s a silence then during which Abigail tries to think how to phrase her question. 

“So...you've known Hannibal a long time?” 

“Yes,” Dr. Bloom briefly does calculations in her head. “I think about five years all together.” 

“How much do you know about him?” Abigail tries not to sound accusatory, because really she isn't. 

“At this point probably not as much as you.” 

“I don’t know,” Abigail looks down at her own hands. “He doesn't talk about his past much. I mean, he’ll talk about places he’s been and stuff but when it comes to 

personal things he gets kinda’ vague. I don’t know anything about his family.” 

“Well, from what I understand, he doesn't really have one.” 

“I know his parents died when he was really young but that’s about it and even that took a long time to get out of him.” 

“Well,” Dr. Bloom smiles despite her obvious discomfort. “It’s only a matter of time. He’s a private person, he just needs to get used to the idea of you as a fixture in his life.” 

“I guess,” Abigail looks a little unsettled. “Dr. Bloom?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you actually ok with this or are you just faking it for my sake? 

“I...I think I eventually will be ok,” she shifts in her chair. “I guess I just need some time too.” 

Abigail spends most of Friday agonizing over what she’s going to wear. It feels inane and girlish but it’s also a welcome distraction. Given the sorts of things that usually occupy Abigail’s mind, it’s oddly relaxing to focus on a simple, mundane problem like getting dressed for a date. It feels like a lifetime since she last went out on a date. It feels like her and the girl that Matthew Somerset felt up in the back seat of his dads car are two completely different people and tonight certainly promises to be different than that night. 

She was able to get all of her clothing from the house. The problem had more to do with her simply having not had many reasons to own anything particularly dressy. Her family had not been especially religious, they had gone to church on Christmas and Easter and Abigail had some dresses for that but none of them seemed right. The Christmas one was red and green and the Easter one was pastel pink, she doesn't think Hannibal would like ether of them and she wasn't particularly fond of them ether...her mother had picked them out. She eventually settles on a simple black slip dress, the only reason that she had had reservations about it was that it had been bought specifically for her grandmothers funeral two years ago and she had not worn it since then. She puts on a little mascara and sprays some perfume on her neck. She leaves her hair down to hide her scar. 

Dr. Bloom arranges for Hannibal to pick her up around back of the hospital in the staff parking lot, ‘just in case’ she says. The parking lot is dark and cold, the temperature has plummeted back down to a more seasonal level in the past week, and Hannibal's car is warm inside. She leans over and kisses him on the cheek. He tells her she looks beautiful and she just smiles and blushes. They make small talk on the way to the theater, it feels strange to be acting so casually around him after their previous conversation. He off handedly asks her if she’s seen Mrs. Lounds since last they saw each other, she says no and her doesn't bring it up again. 

The opera is The Magic Flute. Abigail doesn't speak German but it winds up not mattering because Hannibal explains the general plot to her before it starts and is more than willing to clarify things for her when she’s confused by a particular scene. So as not to disturb the other patrons he leans in very close and whispers in her ear. She finds it surprisingly easy to get absorbed in the story despite not knowing exactly what the singers are saying. At the curtain call she stands and applauds with him. When they get to his house she’s blissfully giddy, she thinks this is the first time she’d ever have used that word to describe herself. He takes her coat, settles her on the couch and goes to put a record on. When he returns he hands her a glass of wine and sits down next to her a little closer than he normally would, not that she minds. She one-ups him and moves a little closer, reaches between them, takes his hand and puts it on her leg. He leaves his hand on her leg as they talk and moves his thumb in a slow circle but otherwise acts as though he doesn't even notice that he’s touching her. 

“I take it you enjoyed the performance.” 

“Oh, god yes.” A smile blooms across her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never considered myself the kind of person who’d like opera, at least not this much.” 

“Ah,” he looks considerably more bemused than offended. “Well in my experience the majority of people fall into two categories, those who love opera and those who have yet to realize that they love opera.” 

They chat about Mozart a while. It’s not as though Abigail is disinterested, she’s very much enjoying listening to Hannibal's voice and the passionate note it adopts when he talks about music, but her mind keeps drifting to...other things...and his hand is still on her leg. She finishes her wine and sets the empty glass on the table beside the couch. Without looking away from his face, she puts her hand on top of his and guides it to her inner thigh. She thinks she hears his voice hitch but it’s only for a second, when he keeps talking his voice is slightly lower and a little hoarse. When she pulls her skirt up a little, inviting him to explore further, he goes silent and seems to hesitate but only for a fraction of a second. 

She startles when he picks her up but then he kisses her and she relaxes into his chest, wraps her arms around his neck. He lays her on the bed and looms over her, kissing her hungrily. One of his hands tangles in her hair and the other slips between them and back under her dress. She shudders when he begins to stroke her through her underwear and moans into his mouth when he pushes them aside and strokes into her wetness. His thumb finds her clitoris and it feels almost too good. 

As he continues to stimulate her, his mouth migrates down to her neck and she’s moaning into the still air of the room. She’s lost in the sensation until he begins sucking on her collar bone. Suddenly something flashes in her mind: she’s alone in the dark, she can’t move, she’s being crushed by the weight of something...something covered in feathers and scales. Before she even realizes it she’s thrashing beneath him, pushing on his shoulders. He seems not to notice until she actually cries out for him to stop but then he instantly pulls back. Suddenly he’s looking into her face, all urgent concern. 

“Abigail?” 

She gropes in her mind for the image but just as quickly as it had materialized it’s gone. Suddenly guilt hits her, things were going so well, she doesn't want to ruin it. Abigail sits up slowly, Hannibal backs up to accommodate her. She takes a deep breath. 

“I’m fine,” her smile quivers a little. “That was just...a little too fast.” 

“Please forgive me,” his voice is a little tight but genuinely remorseful. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it then turns it over and kisses the underside of her wrist right on the sensitive pulse point. He seems stuck there. His body is tense and shaking slightly. Abigail snakes her arm around his neck and pulls him close, kisses him just under his right ear. 

“It’s ok, really, I just got a little...over stimulated.” She pulls back slightly and slides her hand down to grasp the lapel of his jacket. “Could you take this off?” He smiles, then stands to undress. 

Suddenly self conscious, Abigail crawls across the bed to stand on the opposite side and begins to undress with her back turned to him. She steps out of her dress but can’t seem to go any further than that. It startles her to suddenly feel the warmth of Hannibal’s chest at her back and his arms wrapping around her waist. He bends and kisses her scar and then murmurs against her neck. 

“Tell me, sweet girl, how many men have you been with.” 

“You’re not the first.” She doesn't know why it comes out so quickly. 

“As much of an honor as that would have been,” she can feel him smile against her neck. “I was not naive nor presumptuous enough to assume that I was... I’m sorry if the question offended you.” 

“No, it’s ok.” She tilts her head to grant him better access and he kisses her neck as she struggles to talk. “I didn't really date much in high school or...before that. There was this one guy I went out with for a few months. He my dad’s friend’s son. We...did it for the first time in the back of his dads car during the fireworks on the fourth of July and a few times after that before we broke up.” 

“I see,” Hannibal’s tone is mildly amused. He unhooks her bra and slides it down her arms, drops it on the floor in front of her. “He was your first?” 

“Yeah.” It’s hard for Abigail to think with Hannibal exploring her chest, circling her nipples with his fingers, testing the weight of her breasts in his hands. 

“Were you his?” 

“I don’t... I don’t know,” her giggle is cut off by a shiver as he slips a hand between her legs, gently petting with the tips of his fingers. “I really hope so.” 

“And why is that?” The way he laughs under his breath implies that he already knows why. 

“It was... really bad. Like, painful and...and over really fast.” 

“Did you ever bring this to his attention?” 

"I...tried.” Hannibal’s hand slides under the waist band of her underwear and she really doesn't want to think about the topic of conversation any more, doesn't want to think about anything other than Hannibal. “He’d get mad and say that he didn't know what I expected him to do.” 

“Poor girl,” he coos the words as though they’re a term of endearment. “Unfortunately many young men are woefully un-creative when it comes to physical intimacy. It’s a pity that when they’re the most eager they’re the least willing to...experiment.” 

He turns her around, pulls her against him and kisses her. 

“Lie down on the bed for me my sweet girl.” He whispers against her lips. 

Abigail obeys without hesitation, removing her last bit of clothing as she goes. Behind her she hears a soft, wet noise that causes her to flush even more when she realizes that it’s the sound of him licking her juices off of his fingers. He straddles her, making sure not to put all of his weight on her just yet. As he reaches to turn off the light, a cold little splinter of fear pierces Abigail’s haze of arousal. 

“Please leave that on.” She grabs his wrist. 

Hannibal just takes her hand and kisses the tips of her fingers. He kisses her once more on the lips and then begins to work his way down her body. Matthew Sumerset’s attentions had always been ether on her chest or between her legs, sometimes on her mouth. Hannibal is far more thorough. He takes his time, licking and nibbling and sucking as if he wants to taste every inch of her flesh. When he comes to the place between her legs he does something with his tongue that makes her thoughts go blank and her nervous system crackle with electricity. 

Scales and feathers are the farthest thing from her mind. 

Hannibal drops her back off at the hospital early the next morning, apologizing profusely for having a morning session scheduled. Still feeling the effects of the previous nights activities, Abigail is far more relaxed and confident than she can remember having been in a long time. It’s a lovely morning despite the fact that it’s overcast and and a biting wind is tearing across the landscape. She goes to her room, changes out of her black dress and puts her hair in a pony tail. She decides against showering, she wants to keep Hannibal's scent on her skin just a little while longer. 

Mrs. Lounds has called ahead and set up an appointment to see her that evening, she’s not as anxious about that as she had expected to be. The majority of the day passes in relative quiet. She spends the rest of the morning in her room reading and listening to the wind howl outside. In the after noon she goes out and walks around the hospital grounds, she stays where the building blocks the wind. Eventually she comes across a dead pigeon in a corner where the wall surrounding the property meets the building. It’s been gutted, most likely by crows, and it reminds her of something that she can’t quite remember but that gives her a dull ache in her guts. 

Shaking off the vague but unsettling feeling, she turns and heads back inside. There are a man and woman sitting in the common room, they stop whispering as she walks in and she takes the hint and continues walking through to the dining room. She sits at a table in the dark, empty room and watches the sun as it begins to set. Since it’s still completely overcast the sun is only really visible when it reaches the horizon where it’s rays form an vivid orange line along the ground. In this dramatic lighting the barren, winter landscape looks all together alien. 

Abigail starts when she hears the door behind her open. She turns to see the brittle silhouette of Freddy Lounds in the doorway. 

“Hi.” She tries to keep her tone casual. 

“Hey,” Mrs. Lounds switches on the lights, shattering the peaceful atmosphere, and then crosses the room. “How’ve you been?” 

“Ok.” 

“Ok?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good,” Mrs. Lounds takes a seat next to Abigail at the empty table. “I’m really gald to hear that. I thought things might be a little tense between us after last time.” 

“No.” 

“Good.” 

“I did tell Hannibal what happened though.” 

“Oh,” Mrs. Lounds smiles in an attempt to hide the fact that she’s clearly taken aback. “Well, I suppose that’s good. He is your boyfriend, wouldn't be good for the relationship if you kept things from him.” 

“I thought so to.” Abigail tries to keep her tone as unreadable as possible. 

“And what, pray tell, did ‘Hannibal’ have to say? I assume it wasn't favorable.” 

“He said you have a knack for minding other people’s business.” 

“As a journalist, I guess I should take that as a compliment.” Mrs. Lounds laughs. 

“Yeah,” Abigail’s hands are clasped on the table in front of her, she’s still looking out the window. “I guess I should get this out of the way right away.” 

“What’s that honey?” 

“I've given it a lot of thought...and I don’t think I’m comfortable with this any more.” 

“If you’d like, we can try to meet outside the hospital from now on.” Mrs. Lounds clearly knows what Abigail means but is grasping at straws in spite of it. 

“It has nothing to do with where we meet.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“I just...don’t want to do the book any more.” 

Mrs. Lounds furrows her brow and cocks her head to one side, it’s a decent imitation of confusion. 

“It just means that I’ll have to keep thinking about it and I’ve decided I’d rather work on trying to get over it.” 

“Right,” Mrs. Lounds smiles with clenched teeth. “I’m sure this decision has nothing to do with that fact that you talked to Lecter about it.” 

“I’d be lying if I said it didn't.” 

“And you still think he’s not manipulating you?” 

“I know he isn't.” Abigail glares directly into her eyes and she almost backs down. 

“You realize that, if our business arrangement is dissolved, I can’t promise you that any of the information to which I've been made a party will remain in confidence.” 

“Yeah,” Abigail doesn't falter. “I know.” 

“And this doesn't mean that I’ll be backing off of the story, since to do so would be a disservice to my readers.” 

“I expected as much.” 

“Aright then.” Mrs. Lounds tries not to look bitter but fails, she clearly only had the one card to play. “Well, I certainly wish you two love birds all the best.” 

Mrs. Lounds rises and leaves the room, the deliberate clack of her heels echoing in the emptiness.


	8. In which Will learns things.

Within the next three days it becomes common knowledge that “Abigail Hobbs, daughter of the Minnesota Shriek” is “entangled in a torrid affair with Hannibal Lecter MD, the man who saved her life the day her father’s reign of terror was brought to an end.” There is also a pervasive rumor that she is pregnant with Hannibal’s “love child.” There is an only slightly less pervasive rumor that what Abigail is “entangled” in is in fact a “tumultuous love triangle” between her, Hannibal and “mysterious loner and renowned criminal profiler William Graham”, whom it is discretely mentioned has a documented history of mental illness, and that the three of them are anxiously awaiting paternity testing to determine who is the father of Abigail’s unborn child. All this information comes, of course, from an unnamed-yet-reliable source close to the parties involved. Will is understandably aghast to learn of his involvement in the supposed love triangle and, expecting him to be equally appalled, vents his frustrations to Hannibal. Instead in response he gets a weary sigh and an invitation to Hannibal’s home for dinner so that the three of them can “talk things over.” 

On the night of the dinner Abigail and Dr. Bloom, whom Hannibal did not think to invite until after he’d invited Will, take Dr. Bloom’s car to Hannibal’s. Though they do not see his car outside, they enter Hannibal’s living room to find Will already there. Hannibal offers the two women a glass of wine, which they both decline, before returning to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal. After responding to Will’s greeting, Abigail sits in silence listening to her two companions make semi-comfortable small talk. 

There are marked differences in Will’s behavior as he talks to Dr. Bloom. He seems to make a conscious effort not to fidget, which leads to him continually picking at a thread on the cuff of his shirt while the rest of his body remains almost unnaturally still, and even manages eye contact a grand total of three times throughout the conversation. When he smiles at something Dr. Bloom says Abigail feels a strange pang of deja vous. Though her rational mind knows he hasn’t, she can’t help the feeling that at some point he’s smiled at her like that. She thinks that when it happened they were alone together...somewhere far away. When Hannibal comes back into the room it snaps Abigail out of her contemplation and suddenly she can’t even vaguely recall what she had been trying to remember. 

They go and take their places around the table, Hannibal at the head, Abigail to his right, Will to his left and Dr. Bloom to Abigail’s right. At first they’re given only soup, which means that there are going to be multiple courses. They eat in silence for a few moments until, surprisingly, Will is the first to speak. 

“So, I take it you backed out of the book deal?” 

“Yeah,” Abigail keeps her focus on the soup in her spoon. 

“Thank you.” 

“I didn't just do it for you.” 

“I’m well aware of that.” Will glances over at Hannibal. “I’m still grateful though and I think the way she’s reacting is just...low.” 

“Yeah,” Abigail laughs bitterly. “I guess I’m starting to get why you hate her so much.” 

“I don’t hate her.” Will grimaces down at his own bowl. “I’d just prefer to never have to see her or hear her name or be made in any way aware of her existence ever again...that’s not the same as hate.” 

Abigail actually giggles at that and Will seems to relax just slightly. 

“And I gotta’ say, I think I misjudged how skilled of a liar she was. You’d think she could have atleast made up something plausible.” 

Abigail takes a long swallow of her wine, not sure if Hannibal intends to bring it up or if he’s waiting for her to do it. 

“I mean,” Will smirks. “It would have been more convincing if she’d tried to claim that me and Jack were lovers.” 

Will finally notices how uncomfortably silent the rest of the table has grown and so lapses into silence himself. Everyone starts a little when Hannibal speaks for the first time since the meal began. 

“Will, when I said that we needed to talk things over, what specifically did you think I was referring to?” 

“The rumors.” 

“Right,” Hannibal nods like a teacher commending a student. “Specifically how they are not entirely untrue.” 

Will’s brow furrows for a moment and then his gaze darts back over to Abigail. 

“Are you...pregnant?” 

“No!” Abigail’s posture becomes defensive and Hannibal reaches over to place his hand on hers. As Will follows the gesture with his eyes realization spreads across his face. 

“Oh.” 

There is a painfully long silence during which no one wants to speak but no one feels comfortable enough to continue eating. No one seems to know where to look so they’re all looking down at the food in front of them, that is all except Hannibal, who is the only one of them still looking at Will. Will seems about to speak several times but the words never seem to make it all the way out of his mouth. Hannibal takes an uncharacteristically long sip of his wine before deciding to deciding to come to Will’s conversational rescue. 

“You’re uncomfortable.” 

“Uh...” Will almost says no but then decides against it. “How long has this been going on?” He winces at the end of the question,clearly having not intended for it to sound as scandalized as it did. 

“I would say about...two months.” Hannibal looks over at Abigail as though seeking confirmation, she nods. 

“Two months?” Will’s expression is a mix of surprised and inquisitive. He looks over to Dr. Bloom who has been tactfully silent up until now. “Did you already know about this?” 

“Yes,” she nods and struggles to keep her expression neutral. “But not until very recently.” 

“I did plan to eventually tell you, I simply had yet to find the right moment.” Hannibal’s tone is placating and for some reason this makes Abigail bristle with irritation. 

“Why did you think you had to tell him? It’s not his business any more than it’s anyone else's.” 

“Because, Abigail, I had a feeling that should the press learn of our courtship it would become a public scandal into which Will would inevitably be drawn...and I was not wrong.” Hannibal grips her hand a little tighter as though apologizing for the mild irritation in his tone. 

“It’s ok,” Will looks guilty. “It’s not like I’m not used to being talked about...and honestly ‘mysterious loner and renowned criminal profiler’ is probably the nicest thing Freddy Lounds will ever call me.” His laugh is more nervous than amused.Things go silent again and, seemingly for lack of anything more appropriate to do, they all resume eating. 

When they've finished the soup Hannibal serves the main course and, to the unspoken relief of everyone at the table, Dr. Bloom asks Will how his dogs have been and a somewhat natural conversation begins. Hannibal participates to the extent that his obligation as host requires but seems more concerned with Abigail, glancing over at her when the others aren't looking and occasionally reaching over to brush her hand. For the remainder of the night Will does his best to act naturally but, since social charades have never been his strong suit, Abigail can tell that he’s making a conscious effort to act as though he’s already forgotten about what was said at the beginning of the meal. He seems torn between wanting to say more and not wanting to upset Abigail. He is also pointedly avoiding looking at Hannibal. The evening concludes sooner than it probably would have under normal circumstances but no one seems to mind. As Abigail and Dr. Bloom are on their way out Abigail can sense a palpable tension in Will and is certain that he does have more to say to Hannibal and will be saying it once the two of them are alone. 

“Well, that wasn't so bad, right?” Dr. Bloom says as they pull out of Hannibal’s driveway. 

“I guess.” Abigail keeps her gaze on the passing scenery. “At least there’s nothing left for me to worry about now.” 

“Right.” Though Abigail can’t see Dr. Blooms face, she can hear the relieved smile in her voice. They make the rest of the drive in silence. When they get back to the hospital Dr. Bloom walks Abigail to her room, which Abigail thinks is unnecessary but doesn't feel like saying so. They say goodnight to each other and then Abigail enters her room, brushes her teeth and strips off her clothing without bother to turn on the lights, and climbs into bed. Though she hasn’t taken her tranquilizers, she finds herself deeply exhausted and fall asleep within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short, I'm back in school now so I have a lot less spare time.


	9. In Which Abigail Keeps Throwing Up But Otherwise Feels Great.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the few of you who are still following this story, I give you chapter 9.

The next morning the first thing Abigail does is dry heave for thirty seconds, the second thing she does is throw up into the waste basket next to her bed. Her first reaction is to hide the vomit. The last thing she needs right now is for people to think she’s ill, even if she actually is. She ties off the little bag inside the waste basket an waits patiently until the hall outside her room is silent. When a few moments go by without footsteps, she darts down the hallway to the near by communal bathroom and shoves the bag all the way to the bottom of the larger trash can there. This is a mental health care facility so they might check the trash for suspicious objects (maybe, she doesn’t know for sure...maybe she should ask Hannibal?) but all they’d know if they found it was that someone had been sick. There was no way to connect it to her. 

Satisfied that there would be no medical examination in her near future and already feeling markedly less nauseous, she takes a shower. By the time she’s done bathing and dressing she feels fine (JUST FINE) so there’s no need to tell doctor Bloom anything at their session later. At breakfast she finds herself strangely disinterested in food despite her clearly empty stomach so she nibbles on a little dry toast and hopes none of the nurses realizes she’s not eating. Luckily one of the other patients opens a vein with his fork and that keeps the staff pretty occupied. Abigail is able to slink from the dining hall unnoticed. 

At around noon her nausea makes a reappearance with renewed vigor, one of the nurses brings a meal to her room (she says she just wants to be alone when she’s asked why she didn’t come to lunch.) She spends the afternoon lying on her back because standing makes her stomach churn but when the time of her therapy session rolls around she’s at least able to move around freely without retching in her mouth. When the nurse comes to get her she hides her food in the waste basket, not wanting to answer questions about why it was untouched. Dr. Bloom is apparently running a little late so Abigail is told to wait in her office. She doesn’t mind this since it gives her time to compose herself. She’s only alone in there for about five minutes before Dr. Boom enters looking vaguely ruffled and flustered. 

“I’m sorry about that honey.” She says with a tight lipped smile. 

“That’s ok.” Abigail forces a smile of her own. “What kept you?” 

“Nothing you need to worry about.” 

Abigail feels a little reproach at the obvious dodge but she decides to let it go. It probably just has something to do with Will Graham. The two of them seem to be under the impression that they’re being very subtle about their feelings for each other and Abigail doesn’t think it’s her place to shatter that delusion. Anyway, she’d rather not know too much about the parts of Will’s private life that don't’ involve Hannibal. For reasons she’d rather not confront directly, any amount of intimacy with Will makes her extremely uncomfortable, just seeing him outside of his official capacity at dinner last night was strange enough. Though she supposes she’ll have to atleast get used to that seeing as he and Hannibal are...best friends? Somehow that doesn’t seem like the right way to put it. 

“So, how are you feeling today?” Dr. Bloom says, pulling her out of her own head. 

“You mean...about last night?” 

“We could talk about that or anything else you want. I wouldn’t want you to think that you’re obligated to discuss your...romantic relationships with me. Especially given the circumstances.” 

“Yeah, about that.” Abigail casts her eyes to the floor. “Are you still mad at Hannibal?” 

“What?” Dr. Bloom’s eyebrows raise. 

“About, ya know, me and him. Ever since you found out you’ve seemed kinda’ tense and quiet around him. My mom always acts...used to act like that when she was mad at my dad but didn't want to argue with him in front of me.” 

“Oh, Abigail.” Dr. Bloom sighs. “You shouldn’t have to worry about how I’m feeling, it’s my job to worry about your feelings.” 

“Yeah but I AM worried because I care about Hannibal and I’ll never be able to forgive myself if he loses a friend over me.” 

Dr. Bloom sits in silence for a while, he jaw tense and her eyes thoughtful. 

“Honey...” She begins finally. “I’ll admit that on some level I’m still processing the whole thing but I...I know Hannibal and I know he’s not...that kind of man.” 

“What kind of man?” 

“The kind that would prey on a vulnerable young woman who had recently been through a traumatic experience.” 

“No...he’s not.” Abigail feels herself becoming defensive and does her best to push the feelings down (she knows Dr. Bloom means well). “In fact I was the one who initiated the whole thing.” 

Dr. Bloom looks surprised but Abigail goes on before she can speak. 

“Yeah, I kissed him first.” Abigail swallows. “I was the one who had to keep reassuring him that everything would be ok and that he wasn’t making me do anything I didn’t want to do.” 

“He didn’t tell me any of that.” 

“Probably because he wanted to make sure that if you got mad at anyone it’d be him instead of me...he protects me like that a lot. In the beginning he was even worried that I only thought I had feelings for him because of...how we met and he didn’t want to take advantage of that.” 

“That does sound like him.” Dr. Bloom’s expression softens a little. 

“Hannibal’s been really good to me and I just... I worry all the time that his life is going to get harder just because he cares about me when he’s done so much to try and make mine easier.” 

“I’ll admit that a lot of my concern comes from my worrying that a romantic relationship would only put more pressure on you when you’re already under so much pressure.” Dr. Bloom concedes. 

“It doesn’t.” Abigail says firmly. “Actually after watching everyone I care about die knowing that I’m not alone in the world has taken a lot of the pressure off. Hannibal is the only person I feel really safe with.” 

“I suppose that is what you need after all that’s happened.” Dr. Bloom looks a strange mix of ashamed and thoughtful, Abigail can see the gears turning in her head. 

“So...are you actually ok with it now?” 

“I’ve known Hannibal well enough to know that you’re better off with someone like him in your corner and if he really does make you happy...” 

“He does.” Abigail feels herself smile despite the fact that her stomach has started churning again. 

“Good.” Dr. Bloom says and this time actually seems to mean it. 

“Good.” Abigail nods. “Because I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” 

“What’s that?” 

“I was wondering if..if there’s a way I could go and stay with Hannibal.” 

This gives Dr. Bloom pause but she quickly collects herself, takes a deep breath. 

“Legally, there’s no reason why you need to remain in this facility as long as after you leave the authorities will still have access to you for information if necessary but, in my professional opinion, it would be best for you to at least continue treatment as an outpatient.” 

“Of course, I don’t have any problem with talking to you.” 

Dr. Bloom seems genuinely touched by that. 

“Alright, well, I think you, Hannibal and I should discuss this together to make sure everyone’s on the same page and then...there’s no reason why I can’t start the paperwork for your discharge.” 

“Thank you!” Abigail beams and almost stands up but then gets dizzy and falls back into her seat. 

“Honey, are you ok?” Dr. Bloom is kneeling at her side within the blink of an eye. 

“Yeah,” Abigail nods frantically. “I just haven’t eaten much today.” 

“Well I want you to go back to your room and lie down, ok? I’ll have one of the nurses bring you something.” 

“Ok.” Abigail smiles weakly. 

“Hannibal’s supposed to visit you tomorrow right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Great, we can discuss your discharge then.” 

Dr. Bloom brushes her hair behind her ear, a maternal little gesture that she’s never done before, then helps her stand and walks her down the hall to her room. She manages to get dinner down but spends the remainder of the evening in bed reading until she falls asleep. Abigail dreams... 

She’s walking through the woods again but now she’s alone. She knows that there had been someone with her but now she can’t find him and that that is a bad thing. It’s raining and the sky is black and thunder rolls in the distance like the sound of waves in the ocean...maybe she’s near the ocean? No, her dad’s cabin wasn’t near the ocean and Will Graham’s house isn’t either...Will Graham? 

Just as she was begins to wonder why she was thinking of him, she hears his voice from behind her. 

“Don’t worry baby girl...” It’s a barely audible whisper and when she turns around she can still hear it echoing off the trees but he’s nowhere to be seen. She hears a growl immediately behind her and doesn’t even bother to turn around, she runs, sprinting into the forest as fast as her legs can carry her. There should be paths, she knows that somehow, but there aren’t and her clothes are tearing on the thorns in the underbrush...but she’s not wearing clothes...that’s her skin... She stops and slowly looks down at the wreckage that should be the front of her body. Her stomach appears to have been torn away and in it’s place is a yawning chasm with the tips of ribs sticking out like teeth at it’s edges. She feels tears brim in her eyes as she looks behind her to see her entrails tangled in the thorn bushes she’s been running through, a grisly trail that goes back god knows how long. She would scream but she can’t, her lungs don’t work...her lungs are gone. When she reaches up inside her rib cage, she can feel the ragged edges of the tubes they used to connect to. 

Falling to her knees, she begins frantically scooping up handfuls of cold, bloody meat mixed in with sticks and thorns and pine needles and trying to shove it back inside where it belongs. There’s so much of it though and nothing to hold it in place so she winds up cradling most of it to her chest as she half walks, half crawls through muddy thorns as the rain beats down on her. There’s a blinding flash of lightning and she’s standing at the edge of the clearing looking at Will’s house. Another flash and she’s inside the house and she’s lying on Will’s kitchen table and he’s rinsing her entrails off in a bowl of warm water and putting them back inside her. His hands are calloused but also very warm and gentle. 

“This’d probably be going a lot better if I had any idea what I was doing.” He says with a nervous laugh that Abigail would return if she had lungs. “Is this all you found?” 

She nods by way of answer and he nods in return and continues about his work. For a while she feels safe and cared for and...full but the fullness soon becomes painful and it’s then that she realizes that he’s not just putting her own parts back into her, he’s also grabbing random items from around the kitchen and shoving them inside. It’s then that she hears scratching at the back door and realizes that there are no dogs in the house...why would he lock his dogs outside in the rain? 

Then that scratching turns to pounding and that pounding is joined by Will’s voice, panicked, calling to her...from outside the house. She’s seized with panic of her own and her eyes quickly dart from the back door to where Will should be standing and that space is now occupied by a large, dark...creature. It’s skin like newly poured tar, it’s eyes pools of oil as they focus on her’s, from it’s head juts an enormous rack of black antlers. She tries to scream, tries so hard, but even if she could it would have been silenced by the creatures mouth on hers. It’s not kissing her, it’s putting something inside her. She feels that something like sentient liquid slithering down her throat, filling her, drowning her. She can still hear Will screaming and pounding on the door but beneath that she can hear another voice saying over and over: 

“...you won’t be needing it any more...” 

“...you won’t be needing it any more...” 

“...you won’t be needing it any more...” 

She swears she can still hear that voice echoing around her room when she wakes up and immediately vomits again into the waste basket. For a few moments she’s in a blind panic and she doesn’t even know why but the feeling quickly fades and soon she’s left with only that vague sense that there’s something very important that she’s supposed to remember. She also has the strangest urge to see Will Graham or at least to hear his voice. She pushes it to the back of her mind, deciding that getting her teeth brushed is more deserving of her attention at present. In the bathroom, while she attends to her oral hygiene, she starts to think that maybe she should just give up and tell Dr. Bloom she’s not feeling well. Today she’s not only nauseous but there’s a dull pain in the pit of her stomach and her muscles ache the way they always had in the few days after getting home from a hunting trip with her dad. Ultimately she decides against it, she doesn’t want to give them any reason to think she should stay here longer. She tries to think of what significance the phrase “you won’t be needing it any more” could possibly hold for her since it’s the only part of her dream she can remember. 

She goes to the dining hall and manages to get down a bowl of cereal and then makes herself a cup of peppermint tea to settle her stomach. There’s a little pang in her heart at the memory the scent triggers, her mother used to make peppermint tea for her whenever she was sick. She slid out for a walk after finishing it, hoping the fresh air will make her feel better. The day is overcast like they’ve all been lately but it’s not too cold. She wants to go off into the woods but doesn’t, she's feeling oddly weak and brittle, instead she sticks to the shoveled paths closer to the hospital. However she does trek off into the snow when she sees a group of crows flocked around something on the ground...it turns out to be a dead rabbit. 

Later when she’s lead into Dr. Bloom’s office to find Hannibal already waiting there for her, she runs into his arms and kisses him. Enfolded in his arms, she temporarily forgets about the pain in her muscles. They stay like that until they hear Dr. Bloom clear her throat. Hannibal gently pushes Abigail away and shoots Dr. Bloom and apologetic look. When they sit down, abigail slips her hands into his and he squeezes. 

“Dr. Bloom tells me you’ve been considering a change in living arrangements.” He says with one of his subtle smiles. 

“Yeah.” She smiles shyly back at him. “It’s just, I get lonely here and you said you wanted to find a more permanent solution to our problem.” 

“Of course.” He tightens his grip. “I’m delighted you’ve taken the initiative.” 

Abigail is relieved, she’d felt just a little bad about setting things in motion before ensuring Hannibal was ready but now she feels silly, of course he’s ready, he loves her. 

“She’ll still need to be able to make it back here three times a week for her sessions.” Dr. Bloom breaks into the conversation. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Hannibal says. “I want Abigail to have all the care she needs and I understand that I can’t provide it all myself, much as I’d like to.” 

“Good.” Dr. Bloom smiles at Hannibal far more warmly than she has in a while. “Of course Abigail isn’t and has never been held here against her will so she can leave anytime she likes but it’ll be a few days before the paperwork goes through and she’s officially no longer an in patient.” 

“But she can leave?” Hannibal asks rhetorically. “So she could, hypothetically, come home with me tonight...if she wishes.” 

“I don’t see any reason why not...if that’s what she wants.” Dr. Bloom looks to abigail inquiringly. Abigail takes a moment to think, she had planned on having at least a few days for whatever is wrong with her to get out of her system before she moved in with Hannibal but right now she’s feeling fine (wonderful in fact) and she can’t bring herself to say no. 

"That’d be great.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal says. “You can bring what you need with you for tonight and we can come for the rest of your things tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” 

Hannibal and Dr. Bloom wait in the hall while Abigail packs and over night bag. Just before Abigail and Hannibal leave, Dr. Bloom hugs her. It comes as a surprise so her whole body goes stiff and later she feels bad for not reciprocating. When they get to Hannibal’s house he makes dinner (or course) and they talk a little before going to bed. Abigail had been a little worried about that too but Hannibal (wonderfully insightful Hannibal) seems to sense she’s not feeling well so he just holds her. She falls asleep in his arms and doesn’t dream.


	10. In Which Abel Draws Too Much Attention To Himself.

When she awakes the next morning Hannibal is already gone, which is understandable since it’s 10 a.m. and he did mention having patients scheduled the next morning the night before. He’d offered to reschedule but she’d said she would be fine alone in his house for the day, she doesn't want to disrupt his life nay more than she already has. She has a hazy memory of him kissing her goodbye before he left. Her breakfast is sitting covered on the dining room table and this makes Abigail wonder exactly how early Hannibal gets up. He’s mentioned before that he doesn't sleep much, then again, she doesn't sleep much either anymore. 

She spends some time getting acquainted with the house. At first she wonders if she should be looking around by herself or if she should wait for Hannibal to get home and ask him to show her around but eventually decides that he probably won’t mind, she lives here now after all. Just to be safe she makes sure to put anything she moves back where she found it. The upstairs is mostly bedrooms, Hannibal’s room and four guest rooms, each with an attached bathroom. The ground floor consists of the dining room, kitchen and living room (all of which Abigail is familiar with) as well as Hannibal's home office which appears to double as a private library. She’s surprised to see that most of the books in the study aren't in English but then feels stupid for being surprised, reminding herself that English isn't even Hannibal’s first language. 

She’s considering looking in the basement when the phone rings. At first she’s not sure if she should answer it (would that be intrusive?)but then sees on the caller I.D. that the call is coming from the office where Hannibal meets with patients. She picks up the receiver half way through the last ring. 

“Hello?” 

“Good afternoon Abigail.” She’s relieved to only hear Hannibal’s voice on the other end. 

“Hi.” Abigail responds, involuntarily smiling. 

“How are you holding up.” 

“Fine...uh, great. I was just...getting acquainted with the house.” 

“Good.” Hannibal sounds genuinely pleased and Abigail is relieved. “I still feel terrible about leaving you alone on your first day in a new place.” 

“It’s not really a NEW place.” Abigail assures him. “I’ve been here before.” 

“Be that as it may, I’ve shifted some appointments around so that I can be home with you tomorrow.” 

“You don’t have to...I mean, of course, I’d like it if you were here but I don’t want to take you away from your patients.” 

“Sweet girl.” Hannibal says wistfully and Abigail feels herself blush at what she’s grown to realize is Hannibal’s pet name for her. “Fortunately none of my patients are currently going through any particularly urgent personal crises. I think they can spare me for a day.” 

“Ok.” 

“It also occurred to me that you may not want to have to wait until I get home to go and fetch your things, so I asked Will if he’d be able to give you a ride out to the hospital and he said he’d be more than happy to.” 

Abigail is certain those can’t have been Will’s exact words, mostly because she can’t see Will being ‘happy’ to do anything. As far as she can tell Will treats every task with the same degree of grim resignation. 

“Doesn't will live kinda far away? I wouldn't want him to have to run all way into town just for me.” 

“Luckily he’s already in town, he had a meeting with Jack earlier this morning and he says he’s still in the area.” 

“Well...I guess it’s ok then.” Abigail says hesitantly. It’s obvious that Hannibal wants her and Will to get along better and this is clearly his way of giving the two of them a nudge in that direction. She doesn't want to disappoint him. 

“Wonderful, he said that he can pick you up at around two.” 

“Great.” She tries to sound enthused. 

They say their goodbyes and Abigail goes to get dressed. She puts on the sweater and jeans she brought with her from the hospital and brushes her teeth but, thanks to the hasty job she did of packing, can’t do much more than that. She uses Hannibal’s brush but is careful to clean it out afterward. Hannibal’s house is one of those that doesn't look like it was actually meant to be lived in and she feels like her very presence throws off some sort of delicate balance. She has a little under an hour until Will is supposed to be there so she goes into Hannibal’s study and looks through one of his books. As far as she can tell, it’s some sort of medical anatomy book written in...Latin maybe? Anyway, it’s full of breathtakingly beautiful renderings of dissected human bodies. 

While looking at a picture of a skinless woman, she gets that feeling again, that there’s something she desperately needs to remember but can’t. She's startled out of it by the doorbell ringing. She carefully puts the book back where she found it and smooths her indent out of the cushions of the chair she’d been sitting in and then runs to the living room. As expected she finds Will on the other side of the door, looking tired and disheveled as usual. Reflexively she invites him in and they stand in awkward silence for a few beats after he enters. 

“You want some coffee or something?” She says, desperate to make it seem like she knows why she invited him in. 

“Sure.” He says quietly. 

Hannibal has shown Abigail how to use the coffee maker before, so that doesn't present a problem, but preparing something in HIS kitchen when he’s not present feels like a violation of some unspoken rule. Abigail makes the coffee and then does her best to erase any traces that it has been made. It apparently takes her a suspiciously long time to do this, because Will eventually comes into the kitchen and asks if everything is alright. 

“Yeah.” she says as she finishes wiping down the counter. “Just straightening up.” 

He nods and takes the two cups of coffee over to the kitchen table where Abigail soon joins him. 

“I thought that maybe you didn’t know how to work that thing.” He points to the coffee maker. “Even with as many times as I’ve seen him do it I still don’t think I could.” 

“It did take me a few tries to get it.” Abigail laughs. 

“Yeah, that’s a little advanced for me...I got my coffee maker for ten dollars at a garage sale.” He takes a tentative sip from his cup. “It’s good though.” 

“Thanks.” 

They drink their coffee in silence for a few moments during which the ticking of the clock in the living room sounds deafeningly loud to Abigail's ears. 

“So...why the sudden move?” Will asks in as mild a tone as he can muster. 

“I guess I just got sick of living in a hospital.” 

“That’s understandable, I’m a little leery of...mental health care facilities myself.” 

“Even ones where Dr. Bloom works.” She means for it to be gently teasing but the way Will cringes slightly suggests that she’s hit a nerve. 

“Yeah.” He says flatly. “Even those ones.” 

“By the way, thanks for giving me a ride.” Abigail says, trying to push past the discomfort. 

“It’s no problem...you should look into getting a car though...you’re, what? twenty one? I’m sure eventually there’ll places you’ll want to go by yourself.” 

“Actually...” Abigail worries her bottom lip. “I don’t have a drivers license.” 

Will’s brow furrows in mild confusion. 

“My dad would always come up with excuses for not teaching me how to drive...I guess that should have been a red flag.” 

“Not really...lots of parents are overprotective.” She can tell Will’s just trying to make her feel better. 

“Yeah.” She takes a long drink from her cup. “But not many would let their daughter handle a gun but wouldn't want her driving a car.” 

Silence settles back over them as Will seems at a loss for words. He downs his coffee in two big swallows and then rises to go put the cup in the sink. 

“We should probably head out.” He says. 

“Sure.” 

Abigail pours the remaining half of her coffee down the sink, it’s not agreeing with her stomach, and they go out to Will’s car. Will seems to relax a little while driving, no pressure to make eye contact. Abigail wishes he’d turn on the radio so there’d be something to listen to besides the sound of the wind blowing but she for some reason can’t bring herself to ask. Eventually Will breaks the silence. 

“You know...if you wanted...I could teach you to drive.” 

Abigail is so caught off guard by the offer that she is completely at loss for an appropriate response. 

“It’s ok if you don’t want me to.” Will almost whispers. 

“No...no it’s not that...it’s just...you don’t have a lot of free time...do you?” 

“Not a lot but every now and then I wind up sidelined for a few days while the lab work gets done. I actually find it really frustrating so it’d be nice to have something to do during that time besides mill around my house with the dogs and worry and speculate...it’s ok if you’re not comfortable with it though.” 

“It’s not that.” She lies. “I just...have to ask Hannibal if he’d be ok with that.” 

“You need his permission?” Will says in that tone he uses when what he’s saying is meant more as an accusation than a question. 

“No.”Abigail tries to stay calm, not wanting to break her longest streak of talking to Will without getting mad at him. “I just like to run things by him first. Communication is a good thing in a relationship ya know.” 

“How many decisions has he run by you before making them?” He says under his breath, almost as though he didn't actually intend for her to hear it. 

“Please stop.” She says firmly. 

“...sorry.” 

“Did you and Hannibal fight after I left?” She tries to keep her tone neutral. 

Will laughs humorlessly. 

“Dr. Lecter doesn't ‘fight’, he persuades, he rationalizes but he doesn’t ‘fight.’” 

“That’s not really an answer.” 

They go the rest of the drive in silence. When they get to the hospital Abigail asks the woman at the front desk if Dr. Bloom is in, partly because she doesn’t want to be alone with Will any more but mostly because she’s sure Will wants to know that but would never ask himself. After being informed that Dr. Bloom is not at the hospital that day, they both sign in and proceed to Abigail's room. A member of the staff has already put several boxes in there for her. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Will asks. 

“No, I've got it. No offense but I don’t really want you going through my things.” 

Will just nods and sits down in the chair near the bed. He picks up her copy of The Stand from the bedside table and absently flips through it, being careful not to displace the book mark. 

“You know, I don’t get you.” Abigail says, not looking up from the clothes she’s folding. “You must trust Hannibal, if you didn't you wouldn't rely on him so much, but sometimes when he’s not around you act like you don’t.” 

“It’s not really about not trusting him...” 

“Then what’s it about?” 

“You...” Will seems to be struggling for the right words. “You can’t possibly not realize what this situation with you and Dr. Lecter might look like from the outside...to other people. So you can’t really blame me for having some of the same misgivings about it that anyone else would.” 

“Well you picked a really inconvenient time to start thinking like a normal person.” She snaps. 

She looks up just in time to see the hurt register in Will’s eyes and guilt instantly twists her stomach...or maybe that’s something else. 

“I’m sorry...” She whispers, looking back down at her clothes. “That was mean.” 

“It's ok.” Will says unconvincingly. “I just...I just want you to know that if anything bad ever happens...if you ever find yourself in any sort of trouble...you can...come to me.” 

“What sort of trouble are you expecting Hannibal to get me into?”Abigail is genuinely confused now. 

“Not even that...just...anything...I care about you Abigail.” Will says the last part quickly and without making eye contact. For someone who’s greatest strength is meant to be his empathy, he sure is uncomfortable with open displays of emotion. Abigail is at a loss for what to say, so she says the thing she thinks he’d most like to hear. 

“I’d like it if you taught me to drive.” 

“Ok.” Will says with what could be a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

It doesn't take her long to pack and she winds up only needing two boxes, she doesn't have many things. She and Will put them in the car and drive back to Hannibal’s house...she supposes she should start thinking of it as her house now. When he helps her carry them upstairs she can tell he hasn't been in that part of the house before. She leads him into one of the guest bedrooms (Hannibal said she could take one for herself, he doesn't want her to feel like she doesn't have any privacy) and they put the boxes on the floor. 

“Anything else you need while I’m still here?” He asks. 

“No but would you maybe like to stay for dinner? I know Hannibal wouldn’t mind if you did.” 

“Thanks but I can’t. I’ve gotta’ get home to the dogs, they’re probably getting hungry about now and I didn’t put out food before I left.” 

“Ok.” 

“But I’ll let you know next time I have a day off and we can try to get in a driving lesson...ok?” 

“Sure.” Abigail smiles. 

There’s only about half an hour until Hannibal gets home and Abigail had intended to use that time to put her clothes away but she’s feeling drained, likely because she hasn't eaten since breakfast for fear of throwing up again. She settles on the bed with her laptop with the intention of just killing time but eventually something troubling catches her attention. It’s a news story about a man named Abel Gideon who is currently being held in a ‘facility for the criminally insane’ for the murder of his entire family a few years earlier (Abigail vaguely remembered hearing about it but not paying much attention to it.) Apparently he’d murdered a nurse at the facility early in the morning the day before and hideously mutilated her body. The man who ran the facility was using the murder to reinforce his previous claim that Gideon was the Chesapeake Ripper. 

It wasn't the murder that was disturbing her though (she wasn’t easily rattled by that kind of thing for obvious reasons), it was the picture of Gideon accompanying the article. The image was of a short, stocky man in his late 40s with dark brown hair, a mustache and a goatee and striking blue eyes...strikingly FAMILIAR blue eyes. Abigail knew those eyes, somehow she knew what it was like to have that gaze on her, to have those eyes look into hers. She felt...not panic but an echo of the memory of panic run through her body. Something began scratching at the back of her brain, demanding attention but she just couldn't... 

Quickly she pulls up another tab and does a YouTube search for his name. Most of what she finds is just news programs talking about him but eventually she does find some video of him. He was being lead from a courthouse to a waiting police car and a female reporter asked him why he had killed his family. 

“Well you know how stressful the holidays can get.” He smiles a Cheshire cat smile. “I mean, there’s only so much bullshit you can take before you just gotta’ say ‘fuck it!’ and scrap the whole thing.” 

He bursts out laughing until he’s abruptly shoved into the car by the police officer behind him. Abigail feels the color draining from her face. She KNOWS that voice, it reverberates inside her head and bounces off of...something...something important. Suddenly she doesn’t feel safe, suddenly she feels like she NEEDS to get out of that house. There’s something else there too, a feeling of...violation.She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts that when Hannibal comes into the room and touches her shoulder she jumps. 

“Are you alright Abigail?” He looks concerned. “You look pale.” 

“Yeah, I’m...fine.” The feeling of panic melts away as quickly as it had arisen. 

“What’s that you’re watching.” He nods toward the computer screen. 

“Oh.” She clicks back over to the tab where the article is still open. “Have you seen this?” 

“Yes.” Hannibal sounds oddly weary. “It was in the paper.” 

“This guy’s doctor is saying that he’s the Ripper. I guess that means you and Will are going to be looking into him?” 

“Most likely but I’d prefer to wait for word from Jack before I assume anything.” 

“Right.” She finds herself staring into Abel Gideon’s strangely familiar eyes again. 

“I don’t think you should let yourself dwell on such morbid things.” Hannibal says gently, squeezing her shoulder. 

“You’re right.” Abigail nods and closes the laptop. “It’s not like I don’t have a lifetime of my own morbid stuff to dwell on already.” 

Hannibal sympathetically kisses her on the cheek and offers her his hand to help her up from the bed. They go down stairs and she helps him make dinner. She likes that he wants to share something that he cares about so much with her. By the time they’re sitting down all of her bad feelings from earlier are gone...for the most part. 

“How was your day?” She asks Hannibal. 

“Uneventful, which I suppose is a good thing, yours?” 

“Ok...Will offered to teach me how to drive.” 

“Good.” Hannibal smiles. “I’m glad to see the two of you getting along. I know you have some complicated feelings toward Will and I know he can be...difficult at times but he’s a good man and I’ve grown very fond of his company.” 

“If you think he’s a good man, then he must be and I’ve realized that I was being pretty unfair to him.” Abigail returns his smile. 

They finish their meal in companionable silence and then Abigail excuses herself. When she’s in her bathroom freshening up she’s hit with a particularly strong wave of nausea and before she knows it she’s on her knees evacuating her stomach into the toilet. It’s one of those fright night bouts of vomiting that starts back up again just as it begins to seem like it’s finally over. By the time it actually is done all the muscles in her abdomen feel like they’re on fire. She shakily gets to her feet and brushes her teeth. When she emerges from the bathroom she finds Hannibal standing in her room looking concerned and realizes there’s no way he didn’t hear her. She mentally kicks herself for not closing her bedroom door. 

“You’re ill.” He says and it’s not a question. 

“I’m sorry.” She feels herself start to tear up. “I thought it was just, like, stress or something and was hoping it’d go away on it’s own...that’s why I didn’t tell you.” 

“How long have you been sick?” 

“About four days now. It started out as me just being kinda’ sore and tired all the time but over the past few days I’ve been nauseous on and off.” 

“Come back down stairs.” He says, his expression equal parts sad and contemplative. 

He has her sit at the kitchen table and makes her a cup of tea. It’s nearly black and the first sip makes her cringe. 

“Tannis root.” He explains. “I know the taste leaves something to be desired but it’s the best thing for nausea.” 

“Thank you.” She says weakly. He kisses her on the forehead and then regards her thoughtfully for a moment. 

“I have a friend who’s a private physician and makes house calls. Would you mind if I gave her a call to see if she could come out and have a look at you tomorrow?” 

“No, not at all. That’d be great actually.” 

“Alright then.” He kisses her on the top of the head. “I’ll be just a moment.” 

He leaves her alone in the dim, cool quiet of the kitchen. She sips the tea slowly, once she manages to get a few mouthfuls down her stomach actually does start to settle. Eventually Hannibal does come back into the kitchen and offers her his hand to help her stand. 

“I think perhaps you should lie down early tonight.” 

“I was thinking the same thing.” She steps closer and wraps her arms around him. “Can I sleep in your room?” 

“Of course you can.” He wraps one arm around her waist and brings the other hand up to stroke her hair. “You’re always welcome. I just wanted you to have your own space.” 

She sighs contentedly and kisses him on the cheek. They go upstairs together and Abigail goes into her room to prepare for bed. When she gets back to Hannibal’s room, she’s surprised to find that he hasn’t changed. 

“Are you not laying down with me?” She asks. 

“I have some work I need to finish and then I’ll be right up.” 

“Ok.” She lays down reluctantly. Hannibal tucks her in and kisses her before shutting off the light and taking his leave. She lays there in the dark getting more and drowsy with each passing second, Abel Gideon’s voice echoing around in her head. She KNOWS that voice.


	11. In Which Jack Comes to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should mention that by this point Abigail does not know or even suspect that Hannibal is a serial killer. I didn't realize what a departure from canon that was until I was thinking about it earlier today.

The next morning Hannibal brings Abigail breakfast in bed. She’s awoken by him standing over her with a tray on which is an omelette and another glass of that tannis root tea. He informs her that the doctor will be along at noon and kisses her and then goes back down stairs. Abigail can faintly hear him talking to someone through the floor but she can’t hear what they’re saying. She eats slowly but downs the teas as quickly as possible. She goes to her room and gets dressed and then goes downstairs just as Hannibal is saying his goodbyes to whoever he’d been talking to. 

“Who was that?” She asks. 

“Just a patient who doesn’t understand the concept of office hours.” 

“You’re patients know where you live?” 

“I don’t explicitly tell them but some of them go to the trouble of finding out.” 

“That doesn’t bother you?” 

“It’s a minor inconvenience.” He shrugs. 

“It’s just...kinda’ creepy.” 

“I’m not afraid of my patients.” 

“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to imply...” 

“Think nothing of it.” He smiles. “How did you sleep?” 

“Great, actually.” 

“I’m glad.” 

They pass the time until the doctor arrives engaged in separate activities. Hannibal practices the harpsichord and Abigail browses on her lap top. She sits so he can’t see the screen because she doesn’t want him to know that she’s doing more research on Abel Gideon. She wouldn’t be able to explain why she was doing it if he asked anyway. The doctor, a pretty blonde woman in her early forties, arrives promptly at noon as promised.Hannibal welcomes her in and introduces them. 

“Abigail, this is Dr. Bedelia du Maurier, Dr. du Maurier, this is my lady friend Abigail Hobbs.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Dr. du Maurier says, extending her hand for Abigail to shake. “Dr. Lecter, if you don’t mind, I think Miss Hobbs would appreciate some privacy during the examination. Is there somewhere in the house we could go?” 

“Of course, Abigail, would you like to show Dr. du Maurier to your room?” 

“Sure.” Abigail says shyly and then starts up the stairs, motioning for the doctor to follow her. 

“I feel so stupid.” Abigail says when once they’re alone together. “I didn’t even know there were still doctors who made house calls.” 

“It is a bit of a niche market.” The doctor smiles congenially. “Now, Dr. Lecter tells me that you’ve been experiencing bouts of nausea accompanied by fatigue and muscle pain?” 

“Yeah.” Abigail nods as the doctor removes a note pad from the leather bag she has with her. 

“And were these bouts accompanied by any specific stimuli? Bright or flashing lights, certain foods, more prominent at certain times of day? Things like that.” 

“Yeah, it usually worst in the morning and then kind of tapers off throughout the day and comes back again at night.” 

“Hmmm...” The doctor jots something down on her pad. “And is the muscle pain generalized or in specific areas?” 

“It’s mostly in my legs and...kind of...in my chest.” 

“Are you experiencing tenderness in your breasts?” The doctor asks matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah.” Abigail glances down at her own hands. 

“Hmmm...” The doctor continues to scribble. “Do you find yourself more sensitive to strong odors?” 

“Yes.” 

“And do you find yourself urinating more frequently.” 

“...Yeah.” 

The doctor continues writing in silence for a few moments. 

“Do you know what’s...wrong with me?” Abigail finally asks. 

“I have an idea but in order to be sure I’ll need blood and urine samples.” 

“You can do that here?” 

“Of course.” The doctor goes into her bag again and takes out a lidded plastic cup and a large plastic bag. “If you’ll just go ahead and fill that for me I’ll start getting set up to draw your blood.” 

Abigail takes the cup and goes into the bathroom. When she emerges there’s an array of tubes and needles laid out on the bed side table. Abigail starts to feel light headed. 

“Is it ok if I sit down?” 

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with.” 

She sits gingerly on the bed and rolls up her sleeve. The doctor put on rubber gloves for her bag and cleans Abigail's inner elbow with alcohol. She taps the area until a vein comes to the surface and then slides the needle in. Abigail isn’t squeamish and pain doesn’t bother her but the site of a bag filling with her own blood makes her stomach churn. She redirects her gaze to the clock on the wall, pretending to be checking the time. 

“So, how long have you been living with Dr. Lecter?” The doctor asks, sensing Abigail's discomfort. 

“Actually only two days.” Abigail laughs nervously. “I’m sure you know how we met...everyone does.” 

“It’s none of my business.” The doctors tone is calm and diplomatic. 

“How long have you known Hannibal?” 

“About three years.” 

“How did you meet him?” 

“Oh...our social circles just happened to overlap.” 

The conversation is brought to a halt when the doctor slides the needles back out. She places a bandage over the little puncture wound and then seals off the bag of blood and writes some information on it with a felt tipped pen before returning it to her bag. 

“Alright, I’ll just have to run some tests...I should be able to get back to you by this evening or early tomorrow.” 

“That fast?” 

“That fast.” The doctor smiles. 

They go back down stairs and Hannibal sees the doctor off while Abigail returns to her computer. When Hannibal reenters the room she closes the laptop, deciding she’s spent enough time on her random fixation for today. Instead she listens to Hannibal play for a while. Eventually she goes up to her room and starts unpacking her things. Just as she’s finished putting her clothes away Hannibal comes up with another tray of food accompanied by another cup of tannis root tea. 

“Thank you.” Abigail stands and takes the tray, she sets it on the bedside table. 

“You’re very welcome.” Hannibal says, taking a cursory glance around the room. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Jack Crawford over for dinner.” 

“I don’t mind at all.” She shrugs. 

“Good. I was just worried you’d still have some negative associations where Jack was concerned given the suspicions he had towards you.” 

“No.” Abigail says, not entirely honestly. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to walk on eggshells around me.” 

“There’s a difference between walking on eggshells and simply being considerate.” 

“I..guess..but you don’t need to worry about me.” 

“You’re the woman I love. It would be remiss of me not to worry.” 

At that she can’t help but reach up and wrap her arms around his neck. They stay that way, holding eachother, for a few seconds and then reluctantly part. Later that evening Abigail helps Hannibal get started on dinner and then goes upstairs to change into the same dress she wore the night she and Hannibal went to the opera (it’s the nicest on she has) and put on make-up. She’s on edge, feeling like the phone could ring at any second, but trying not to let it show. There’s probably not even a reason for her to worry, it’s probably just a stomach virus or something. Thanks to the tea Hannibal gave her earlier, she’s currently feeling more or less fine save a slight ache in her limbs. 

She gets down stairs just as the doorbell rings. She’s not sure she should answer it, so she goes into the kitchen. 

“I think Jack’s at the door.” 

“Well, I’ve no objection to the lady of the house answering it.” Hannibal says, briefly glancing up from what he’s doing. 

“Ok.” 

She pauses by the door and smooths down the front of her dress. When she opens the door, Jack looks only mildly surprised. 

“Good evening miss Hobbs.” He gives her a wide smile. 

“Evening.” She says in what she hopes is an equally friendly manner. Despite the fact that at one time he suspected her of being a murderer, Abigail doesn’t necessarily dislike Jack. After all, she can't be mad at him for being right. He’s even been kind and polite enough to her since he stopped considering her a suspect but underneath that he still always seems to be...angling at something. He makes her nervous for the same reason Freddy Lounds makes her nervous, because she can’t talk to him without feeling like he’s storing everything she says up so that he can comb through it in his head later to look for any little thing that he should be suspicious of...anything he could use against her. Again, he’s technically right to be doing this, but she still hates it and unlike Will he doesn’t have debatably unwarranted feelings of guilt and obligation to blunt his perception. She mentally reassures herself that Hannibal would NEVER let anything bad happen to her and tries to behave normally, or at least how she imagines a hostess at an elegant dinner party should behave. 

“Can I take your coat?” She asks and he hands it over to her. When she gets back from hanging it up she finds that he’s wandered into the kitchen and is talking with Hannibal. She walks in on him in mid sentence. 

“....Dr. Bloom wanted to go along any way since she has experience with Gideon....apparently he’s very fond of her so he was more inclined to cooperate than he would have been with a psychiatrist he hadn’t met before. It all wound up working out fine.” 

“What wound up working out fine?” Abigail asks. 

“You were right.” Hannibal says. “We did wind up looking into Dr. Gideon. Will and Alana went earlier today to conduct an interview.” 

“They didn’t want you to go with?” 

“I called Dr. Lecter early this morning and he explained the situation to me and I told him we’d manage without him.” 

“That wasn’t necessary.” Abigail turns her gaze to Hannibal. 

“Nonsense.” Hannibal punctuates the word with a particularly hard chop. “I certainly wasn’t going to leave you alone when you were ill.” 

“And how are you feeling?” Jack speaks before Abigail can. 

“Fine.” She nods. “Just fine...I actually probably didn’t even need the doctor.” 

“Even if that’s the case, I wouldn’t have wanted to take any risks. You’re far too precious to me.” Hannibal looks at her with what she thinks is a little too much tenderness for when other people are around and she rushes to shift the focus off of her. 

“Would like some wine, Jack?” 

“Sure, why not.” Jack chuckles in a way that suggests he knows what she’s doing. 

She goes and pours him a glass from the bottle that Hannibal brought up from the cellar earlier, he takes it from her with a grateful nod. 

“You know Abigail.” He says. “I’m glad to see you doing so well, we all are.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I really mean it. My work brings me into contact with a lot of people who have been through ordeals similar to yours and usually when it’s all over I just have to watch them go out into the world and hope that they’ll be alright. It’s nice to have at least one that I know for sure is going to be alright.” 

“I really don’t want to believe that there are ‘a lot’ of ordeals out there that are similar to mine.” 

“I think we’d all prefer that there were none at all.” Hannibal rejoins the conversation. “If you two don’t mind taking your places at the table, I’ll be serving in a few minutes.” 

Jack holds the door for her as they leave the kitchen. Abigail’s relieved that they’re not alone long before Hannibal emerges from the kitchen and begins serving. 

“So, how did the interview go?” Abigail asks after they’re all settled. 

“Is there a reason you seem so interested in Abel Gideon?” Jack fixes her with his gaze. 

“I’m not..I just feel bad that Hannibal couldn’t be there because of me.” 

“I’m sure things were fine.” Hannibal intersects to cut the tension. “Dr. Bloom is more than capable, as you know, and given her past history with Dr. Gideon it’s likely that things went more smoothly than they would have had I been there.” 

“I don’t know that that’s necessarily true.” Jack says. “Based on what Dr. Bloom told me, Gideon seemed to be...acting out in response to her presence.” 

“He was uncooperative?” Hannibal arches a brow. 

“Not so much uncooperative and as just sort of...deliberately vulgar. He was actually very forthcoming with information. Even so, Will thinks the interview was a waste of time.” 

“He thinks Gideon isn’t our man?” 

“He thinks Gideon doesn’t ‘feel’ like the Ripper...you know how he is.” 

“Hmm...” Hannibal gazes thoughtfully into his wine glass. “I have great faith in Will’s instincts but, if you like, at our next session I can try to get him to be more specific about why he doubts Dr. Chilton’s claims.” 

“That’d be helpful.” Jack sighs. 

“Is that what Hannibal does? Talk to Will for you?” Abigail laughs. 

“It does require a certain finesse that I seem to lack.” Jack smiles before taking another bite of his food. 

“Will is a complicated man.” Hannibal predictably comes to Will’s defense. “It makes me feel all the more privileged to have earned his trust.” 

Before Abigail can respond, the phone rings. 

“I’ll be just a moment.” Hannibal rises from the table and goes to answer the phone. 

He comes back into the dinning room only seconds later looking concerned and leans down to whisper in her ear. 

“The doctor is on the phone for you.” 

Abigail stands quickly and goes to the phone. 

“Hello?” She says into the receiver. 

“Good evening Miss. Hobbs.” The doctors dark, smooth voice comes on the other line. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” Abigail tries not to sound impatient. 

“I’m glad to hear that. So...I’ve gotten your tests results back and...I suppose the first thing I should say is...congratulations.” 

“Con...congratulations?” 

“Yes...you’re pregnant Miss. Hobbs.” 

“I’m...I can’t be...I’m on birth control...” 

“I’m sorry but it is possible for birth control to fail...and in this instance it has.” 

Abigail...can...not...speak. She feels her chest getting tight. 

“Miss. Hobbs?” The doctor is starting to sound concerned. “Are you still there?” 

“Yeah...I’m...how...pregnant am I?” 

“I would say, roughly, a month maybe a little more.” 

There’s an excruciatingly long, tense pause and when the doctor speaks again it’s her voice is much quieter and more furtive. 

“Is Hannibal the father?” 

“Of course...it’s been years since I've been with anyone else.” 

“Alright, then I’d suggest you discuss this with him as soon as possible. Bad as you think the situation may be, keeping it a secret would only make it worse.” 

“Ok.” Abigail is embarrassed at how small and weak her voice sounds. 

“I’d also like to make another appointment with you so that I can give you some prenatal supplements.” 

“Could I maybe call you back tomorrow about that...after I’ve told him?” 

“Of course.” The doctor’s tone softens. “Now, Abigail, I want to to try and stay calm. You don’t want to put any more stress on your body.” 

“Yeah.” Abigail takes a deep breath. “You’re probably right.” 

“Ok, so what I want to you do is talk things over with Hannibal tonight and call me tomorrow, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

“Goodbye Miss. Hobbs.” 

Abigail hangs up the phone and walks back into the dining room feeling oddly light and numb. She barely registers the conversation that Jack and Hannibal are having during the rest of the meal but she does register that Hannibal keeps glancing over at her when Jack isn’t looking. When it comes time for dessert Hannibal asks her to help him prepare it, a transparent excuse to get her to go into the kitchen alone with him. 

“What did the doctor say?” He asks as soon as the door closes behind them. 

Abigail considers for a moment rather or not she should tell him now but then decides against it, she doesn’t want to ruin the dinner party. 

“Could we please just wait until after Jack leaves to talk about it?” When concern and confusion flash in his eyes she feels the need to elaborate. “I’m not really sick or anything...I just don’t feel comfortable talking about that kinda’ thing with him here.” 

“As you wish.” He sounds hesitant but resigned. 

To Hannibal’s credit he keeps his composure when they go back out into the dining room (not that he doesn’t always keep his composure) and manages to not rush Jack out of the house even though Abigail can tell he wants to. She’s learned to read the incredibly subtle little ticks that indicate when Hannibal is anxious. When Jack finally leaves, he doesn’t immediately ask what the doctor said again like Abigail expects him to. He seems to be waiting for her to start that conversation, which she supposes makes sense since she’s the one who postponed it. When they’ve cleared the table and began washing the dishes, she decides now’s as good a time as any. 

“Hannibal...how old are you?” 

“Forty eight.” He responds automatically, displaying none of the insecurity people usually have about revealing their age. 

“So I assume I’m not the first relationship you’ve had.” 

“You would be correct in that assumption.” 

“How many of them were really...serious?” 

Hannibal seems to be thinking. 

“I was never engaged or married if that’s what you mean.” 

“Well...you’re not engaged or married to me...” 

“Regardless, I intend the spend the rest of my life with you...but if you’d prefer that we made things more official...” 

“No...I mean...that’s not what this is about.” 

“I would like very much to know what it is about.” His tone is just slightly clipped, the way it usually is when he’s getting impatient but trying not to show it so Abigail tries to hurry things along. 

“Why weren’t you ever married or engaged?” 

“Most of my relationships ether came to an end or...remained casual because they turned out not to be what I needed or I turned out not to be what they needed...All very typical really.” 

“Did that ever bother you?” 

“That I couldn’t find someone to marry?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I assumed that if it were meant to happen it would.” 

“Did you ever wish that you could...start a family?” 

He pauses then and actually looks at her. She can see in his eyes that he knows what she’s getting at, he’s not stupid, he’s just waiting for her to say it out loud. 

“I’m pregnant.” She says it in a whisper so quiet it’s only audible because the house is otherwise completely silent. Hannibal’s expression falters for a moment and he abruptly turns and walks away from her, composing himself. Sometimes Abigail wishes that he weren’t so damned composed all the time. She grapples for the most reassuring thing she can think to say. 

“I’m not very far along...so...if you don’t want it...” 

“How could I possible not want OUR child?” He turns to face her again and his voice is completely calm but anger flashes in his eyes, anger and something else...something heartbreaking. 

“So...you do want it?” 

He takes a deep breath and his whole affect becomes suddenly calm. 

“I wouldn’t want for your life to be built around my wants.” 

“You’re the most important person in my life.” She realizes she’s shouting and takes a deep breath of her own, goes on in a more rational tone. “It’s not even just my life anymore, it’s OUR life and that's how I want it to be. So I need to know, do you want this baby?” 

“There have been times...” He swallows. “That I have wished that I could have...a daughter.” 

That cuts Abigail to the core. Hannibal has told her about his sister before and suddenly she feels like a terrible person for not having acknowledge that as a factor until now. Just as quickly she feels certain about what she wants. She goes over to him and puts her arms around his neck and laughs a breathy, relieved laugh. Hannibal looks confused. 

“If it’s a girl, we can name her Mischa.” Abigail explains and sees the relief she’s feeling fill Hannibal’s eyes. He pulls her to him and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.


End file.
